THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


THE     REAL     NEW     YORK 


THE  ARION  BALL 


THE 
REAL  NEW  YORK 


r,v  DRAWINGS  BY 

RUPERT    HUGHES  HY.    MAYER 


Drift  if  you  will  in  Venice, 

Or  drowse  in  Florence  brown ; 
Drink  till  you  drop  in  Munich, 

Or  drench  in  London  town  ; 
Drudge  out  your  life  in  Chicago, 

Or  drone  in  old  Rome  your  dream; 
Drain  the  delights  of  Vienna, 

Or  Paris  with  walls  of  cream  ; 
But  drive  me  not  far  from  Broadway, 

When  New  York's  aglow  and  agleam. 

From  Peter  Simes1  *'  Tlie  Muse  in  Town: 


1904 

THE    SMART    SET    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

452    FIFTH   AVENUE 
LONDON  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHTED,  1904,  BY 

THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


REGISTERED  AT 
STATIONERS'  HALL,  LONDON,  ENGLAND 

ALL   RIGHTS 


PUBLISHED  JUNE,  1904 


F/Zt 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— Getting  In 11 

A  wreck  and  its  consequences — The  arrival — 
The  sky  line 

II.— Getting  Round 23 

The  hotel  for  lone  women — The  New  York 
sky  vs.  Italy's — The  Flatiron,  its  beauty 
and  its  breezes — Twenty-third  Street  and 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  the  pageant  of  fair  women 
— A  department  store;  shoppers  and  shop- 
girls— A  steamer  landing — Passing  the  cus- 
toms—The Elevated  railroad — The  Subway 
—The  New  York  rush  and  transit  problems 

III.— The   Beau  Monde 49 

The  Waldorf;  a  revolving  door — Peacock 
Row — The  people  in  the  corridors — The  ball- 
rooms and  dining-rooms — Oscar — The  Uni- 
versity Club;  its  dining-room — The  Lyceum 
Theatre — A  New  York  audience — Supper  at 
the  Savoy — A  midnight  spin  through  Central 
Park — Riverside  •  Drive  and  Morningside 
Park  under  the  stars 

IV.— The  Gamblers 67 

The  "Lid  " — Chicago  streets  and  New  York's 
— When  the  town  was  "wide  open" — Life 
under  the  Lid — The  barrooms — A  free 
"lunch" — The  prize-fighters  as  hosts — The 
late  Steve  Brodie — Gambling — Running  the 
gantlet  —  Magnitude  of  the  sport  —  Ex- 
changes and  bucketshops — Women  as  gam- 
blers— Canfield's  palace — Playing  the  races 
— A  typical  poolroom — A  raid — A  ride  in 
the  patrol  wagon — At  the  Sign  of  the  Green 
Lamp-posts 

V.— The   Tenderloin   at    Night 91 

Broadway  aglow — The  women  who  loiter — 
The  theatre  crowds — Music-halls — Auto- 
matic vaudeville — Herald  Square  at  night — 
The  Journal's  free  coffee — Emptying  of 
the  theatres — After- theatre  suppers— Late 
extras — The  Rathskellers — More  trouble 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

VI.— Sunday  in   Town 103 

High  and  Low  Church — the  numberless 
creeds,  rituals  and  languages  in  town — Fa- 
mous preachers — Church  architecture — Fash- 
ionable churches — Wall  Street  on  Sunday — 
The  Easter  parade — Fifth  Avenue — Upper 
Broadway — When  the  college  girls  come 
home  for  Easter — Central  Park  on  Sunday; 
the  carriages — Riverside  Drive  bv  daylight — 
The  Hudson — A  sunset — The  diner  de  luxe 
at  Sherry's — A  concert  at  Carnegie  Hall — 
Great  conductors  who  visit  New  York — New 
York  as  a  capital  of  music — Supper  at  the 
Beaux-Arts 

VIL— Assorted    Sabbaths 125 

The  good  side  of  New  York — The  crowded 
churches — The  free  hospitals — Organized 
charities — The  Board  of  Health— Breakfast 
in  bed — The  Sunday  papers — The  Personal 
column  as  a  secret  post-office — The  tameness 
of  a  New  York  Sunday — The  Raines  law — 
The  "Family  Entrance" — Hypocrisy  and 
laziness  —  Quenching  the  thirst  —  Sunday 
night  in  town — The  sacred  concerts — A  sur- 
reptitious prize-fight — Police  interference — 
In  prison — Professional  bondsmen — Vice  is 
expensive 

VIII.— Chinatown 147 

The  number  of  Chinese  and  their  industries 
— Their  clubs,  newspaper  and  religion — The 
joss  house — The  Chinese  new  year — The 
funeral  feast — Chinese  and  white  women — 
Opium — The  half-breed  children — A  restau- 
rant and  Chinese  bill  of  fare — A  Chinese  shop 
— The  Chinese  theatre — A  typical  plot — 
The  Chinese  actress — The  audience,  the 
orchestra  and  the  players 

IX.— New  York's  Garden  of  Eden 167 

Madison  Square  Garden — Its  beauty — Di- 
ana, the  patron  goddess — The  size  of  the 
building  and  what  it  contains — The  various 
shows — The  Horse  Show — Venice — The  Arion 
and  other  masked  balls — Typical  scenes — An 
early  morning  drive — Sunrise  in  New  York 

X. — Downtown 193 

Boston  vs.  New  York — The  farmer  and  the 
schoolmarm  come  to  town — The  Broadway 
crowd — A  tall  building — A  city  under  one 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

roof — The  risks  of  modern  city  life — "  News- 
paper Row" — The  Brooklyn  Bridge — City 
Hall  Park — A  monument  to  Boss  Tweed — 
The  Tombs  Prison — The  Criminal  Court 
H  ouse  —  The  Post-Office  —  Crooked  alleys 
downtown 

XL— Money 211 

The  Chamber  of  Commerce — The  Clearing 
House — The  Sub-Treasury — The  Stock  Ex- 
change— The  Produce  Exchange — The 
Wheat  Pit — Fraunces's  Tavern 

XII.— Clubland 219 

How  to  get  into  a  New  York  clubhouse — • 
'Various  types  of  club — Political,  religious, 
college,  women's,  Greek  letter  fraternities, 
trades,  crafts,  professions — Athletic  clubs — • 
Literary,  Bohemian  and  social  clubs — Club- 
window  life — Some  odd  clubs — Clubland's 
new  centre 

XIII.— The   Many  Peoples  of  New  York 231 

New  York's  cosmopolitanism — Its  popula- 
tion and  environs — Rapid  growth — Tran- 
sient population — Foreign  cities  inside  New 
York — Foreign  languages,  churches,  papers, 
theatres,  festivals — The  various  colonies — 
A  Finnish  bath — A  Russian  Easter — Bravery 
of  the  Irish — What  New  York  offers  the  in- 
vader 

XIV.— Where  to  Eat 251 

The  cookery  problem  in  New  York — The 
restaurant  system — The  cosmopolitan 
menus — Cheap  lunches — The  street  stands 
and  the  buffet  luncheon — Chop  houses — 
The  American  oyster  and  clam — Culinary 
aristocracy— Old-time  restaurants — Some 
large  establishments — The  kitchen  at  the 
Waldorf — The  lunch  clubs — The  New  York 
table  d'hote — Roof- gardens — The  Park  res- 
taurants— The  sporty  places — American 
menus — The  Chinese  restaurants — The 
French,  German  and  other  national  resorts 

XV.— The  Hunt  for  Bohemia 271 

Bohemia:  Where  and  what  is  it? — The  old 
Bohemia  at  "Maria's" — Professional  Bo- 
hemians— Imitation  Bohemianism — The 
secret  haunts  of  Bohemians — Quick  growth 
of  the  Bohemian  cafes — Cafe  Liberty — 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Hungarian  dishes,  sauces,  wines  and  music 
— The  only  Bohemians  are  Hungarians 

XVI.— Summer  in  New  York 289 

The  summer  exodus — Father  Knickerbocker 
a  grass-widower  in  summer — Schemes  for 
fighting  the  heat — Summer  costume — Roof- 
garden  dining — The  suffering  slums — May 
Day  and  May  queens — Athletics  in  town — 
The  coaches — The  racetracks — The  cool 
environs  of  New  York 

XVII.— At  Coney  by  the   Sea 307 

The  most  elaborate  pleasure  resort  in  the 
world — The  old  Coney — Its  two  good  points 
—The  new  Coney — Luna  Park  and  its 
wonders — The  Durbar — Dreamland  and  its 
ballroom  over  the  ocean — The  destruction 
of  New  York 

XVIII.— Let  Us  Go  A-Slumming 315 

New  York's  slums  and  those  of  other  cities 
— Drunkenness  in  various  capitals — Sor- 
rows of  rich  and  poor — Amelioration — The 
crime  of  aiding  beggars — The  old  haunts  of 
vice — Teaching  children  to  play — The 
Morgue — The  city  hospitals  and  prisons — 
The  Bowery  of  old  and  now — Baxter  Street 
— The  Ghetto — The  most  densely  populated 
spot  in  the  world — The  fish  market — The 
sweat-shop — The  Lung  Block — A  contrast — 
The  Metropolitan  Opera  House  on  a  gala 
night 

XIX.— Night  in  the  Slums 347 

A  Bowery  concert  hall — A  moral  immor- 
ality show — A  night's  lodging  for  five  cents 
— Amateur  night — A  concert  saloon — 
Viciousness  on  the  upper  West  Side — 
East  Side  gangs — Dulness  under  the  Lid — 
A  Jewish  vaudeville — A  street  fight — 
Pickpockets  and  low  saloons — Knockout 
drops — A  police  court  scene 

XX.— A    Round-Up'. 367 

The  many  faults  of  New  York:  noise, 
crowding,  impoliteness,  expense,  homeless- 
ness — Bronx  Park — The  Jumel  mansion 
and  other  historic  places — The  Columbia 
Library — The  Metropolitan  Gallery — Private 
collections — The  Aquarium — Battery  Park 
— Bowling  Green — The  Statue  of  Liberty — 
A  storm  in  the  Bay — Daybreak — Bon 
voyage ! 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Arion  Ball   (frontispiece) 
Matinee  Girls  •  . 

The  Czar  of  a  Department  Store 
At  the  Custom  House     . 

Under  Fire 

On  the  Rialto 

A  Bowery  Soubrette 

A  Box  at  the  Opera 

The  Old  Coney  Island 

A  Knockout  by  the  Police     . 

Chinatown  .          . 

The  Arion  Ball  Committee      . 

After  the  Ball 

Around  the  Ticker 
The  Night  Hawk          . 

The  Ghetto 

Hurdy-Gurdy  Dance     . 

A  Busy  Saturday  Night 

A  Gala  Night  at  the  Cafe  Boulevard 

At  the  Races  .... 

Coney  Island        . 

Amateur  Night  at  a  Bowery  Theatre 

The  Bowery 

"First  Visit  to  Noo  York?" 
De  Peyster  of  New  York 
The  French  Twins 

The  Parson 

Miss  Myrtle  Collis 
River  Scene — Harbor  at  Night    . 
They  Meet  Again    .... 
The  Flatiron  on  a  Windy  Day 

"Cash!" -      . 

The  White  Man's  Burden 

A  Sidewalk  Merchant 

A  New  Yorker     .     .     . 

The  Waldorf-Astoria  Cafe        .       '    . 

A  New  Yorker     . 

Matches  Mary  .... 

The  Kangaroo  Walk    .... 

Riverside  Drive  at  Night 

"Ananias"   Blake          . 

The  Pretzel  Pedler 

A  Gambler  in  Futures 

A  New  York  Gambler    . 

"'Diaphanous'  Wins  by  a  Nostril"   . 

Astronomy  for  Five  Cents 

The  "Barker" 

"Kellner!" 

In  the  Haymarket       . 
A  New  Yorker 


FULL    PAGE 
FACING 

16 

32 

48 

64 

80 

96 

112 

128 

.  144 
160 

.  176 
192 
208 
224 

.  240 
256 

.  272 
288 
304 
320 

.  336 
352 

PAGE 

13 
14 
17 
18 
21 
22 
25 
27 
35 
39 
41 
47 
52 
58 
61 
64 
66 
69 
74 
77 
84 
87 
93 
96 
99 
101 
105 


Xist  of  Illustrations 


PAGE 

A  New  Yorker 108 

Of  the  Broadway  Squad 113 

In  the  Park 117 

Sunday  Night  Amusements .121 

A  New  Yorker 127 

"Garson" 131 

A  Sunday  Outing         .......  137 

A  New  Yorker 151 

In  a  Chinatown  Audience 155 

In  the  Chinese  Theatre 163 

A  Stage  Beauty 164 

A  New  Yorker         .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  169 

A  Belle  of  the  Arion  Ball 184 

In  the  Pageant 186 

The  Surface  Cars 192 

From  the  Twentieth  Floor      .          .  .          .          .197 

In  the  Astor  Library •  207 

A  New  Yorker 209 

A  New  Yorker 213 

The  Chart  Expert  on   'Change         ...  .217 

On  the  Stock  Exchange      .          .          .          .          .          .  218 

A  New  Yorker 220 

At  the  German  Club 223 

The  Lotos  Club  Entertainer 227 

A  New  Yorker .  233 

A  New  Yorker 237 

In  Front  of  a  Yiddish  Theatre            ....  240 

On  Darkey  Fifth  Avenue 247 

A  New  York  Alderman 248 

At  Dennett's 253 

A  New  Yorker 261 

The  Syrian  Cafe 265 

A  New  Yorker 267 

A  New  Yorker 277 

Spaghetti 281 

When  Two  Hungarians  Play  Cards         ....  285 

A  Roof-Garden  "Stunt" 293 

Pitcher 299 

Catcher 299 

The  Tipster 303 

The  Steeplechase 309 

An  Old  Coney  Islander 313 

The  Gridiron 314 

A  New  Yorker 318 

On  Baxter  Street 325 

In  Little  Italy 329 

On  Thompson  Street  .... 

A-Slumming  by  Night     .......  346 

West  Side  Swell 349 

"De  Gang" .          .357 

The  Morning  After 363 

On  Fifth  Avenue 374 

From  the  Fatherland 376 

"Bon  Voyage!" 384 


THE    REAL    NEW   YORK 


CHAPTER  I 


GETTING     IN A     WRECK    AND     ITS      CONSEQUENCES — THE 

ARRIVAL — THE    SKY-LINE 

THE  man  from  Chicago  felt  talkative.  The 
clickety-clickety-click  of  the  wheels  got 
on  his  nerves.  The  sight  of  all  these  men 
and  women  stupidly  riding  for  hours  with  no 
more  conversation  than  goes  on  in  a  bed  of 
oysters  outraged  his  Western  ideas  of  human 
brotherhood.  At  length  he  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  He  resolved  to  break  the  ice  at  any 
cost.  He  juggled  his  Adam's  apple  a  long  while, 
then  made  so  bold  as  to  address  the  man  across 
the  aisle. 

'Train  seems  to  be  on  time — for  a  wonder/' 

The  stranger  across  the  aisle,  realizing  that 
they  had  never  been  introduced,  simply  gave 
him  a  look  of  pained  amazement  and  returned 
to  the  advertisement  pages  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  which  he  had  bought  from  the  news- 
boy and  read  through  three  times. 

The  man  from  Chicago  felt  the  ice  thicken; 
he  muttered  to  himself: 

"Mean  thing  to  say  of  anybody,  but  I  bet 
he's  from  Boston.' 


12  Sbe  IReal  mew 

He  subsided  for  awhile,  but  at  last  he  bent 
forward  and  touched  the  man  in  front  of  him. 

"First  visit  to  Noo  York?"  (By  the  way, 
does  anyone  ever  say  New  York  ?) 

The  man  in  front  was  that  rare  bird,  a  born 
New  Yorker;  he  was  insulted  that  anyone  should 
fail  to  see  this  glory  sticking  out  all  over  him. 
He  grunted  and  said  nothing. 

The  man  from  Chicago  grew  desperate.  He 
whirled  his  chair  on  its  pivot,  and,  so  to  speak, 
faced  the  man  behind  him. 

:<Who  are  the  Democrats  going  to  nominate 
this  time  ?" 

It  seemed  there  was  no  escape.  But  this  man 
was  a  genius;  he  closed  his  eyes  and  pretended 
to  be  asleep.  The  Chicagoan  rose  with  a  sigh 
and  started  for  the  door.  On  the  sofa-seat  he 
saw  two  sad  and  lonely-looking  fellows,  evidently 
twins.  It  would  be  a  kindness  to  cheer  them 
up.  He  sank  down,  with  the  leading  remark: 

'This  winter  has  put  the  oldest  inhabit- 
ant out  of  business,  eh?" 

"  Parlez-vous — P"  said  one. 

"'Franpais,  monsieur?"  said  the  other. 

"  Nein!"  gasped  the  Chicagoan,  and  he  fled 
to  the  smoking  compartment. 

It  was  packed  with  humanity  and  tobacco 
fog.  Everyone  was  puffing  desperately  and  no- 
body saying  a  word  to  anybody.  The  Chica- 
goan, being  what  is  known  as  a  sad  wag,  sang 
out: 


(Betting  Hit 


13 


"Full  house  beats  three  of  a  kind,  eh?" 
Everybody  looked  up  at  him  and  nobody  an- 
swered. 

The  Talkative  Man  stood  helpless  in  the  aisle, 
feeling  that  he  was  about  to  die  of  ingrowing 
conversation.  Suddenly  there  was  a  grinding  of 
brakes,  a  jolting,  thudding,  creaking,  and  the 


"FIRST  VISIT  TO  NOO  YORK?" 

Talkative  Man  sat  down  in  four  or  five  different 
spots  in  rapid  succession. 

The  train  had  come  to  a  short  stop.  When 
people  had  picked  themselves  from  each  other's 
lap,  those  passengers  who  were  next  to  win- 
dows— and  were  powerful  enough  to  get  the 
windows  open — popped  their  heads  out.  The 
others  flew  to  the  platforms.  Reckless  fiends  of 
valor  got  off  and  walked  along  the  ground.  A 
young  farmer  had  waved  the  train  to  a  stand- 
still in  the  midst  of  bleak  and  barren  meadows; 
he  breathlessly  explained,  with  a  megaphonic 
voice  and  arms  like  a  windmill,  that  there  was  a 


14 


IReal  mew  JOorft 


washout  just  ahead.  If  he  had  not  stopped  the 
train,  it  would  have  been  ditched  and  somebody 
hurt. 

In  their  rapture,  the  passengers  took  up  a 
purse,  each  contributing  what  he  thought  his  life 
was  worth — after  saving.  These  valuations,  like 
tax  confessions,  showed  a 
most  commendable  mod- 
esty, but  the  farmer  had 
never  before  had  a  personal 
meeting  with  so  much 
money  except  in  the  form 
of  an  inherited  mortgage. 

When  one  of  the  railway 
officials,  who  dared  to  ride 
on   his    own    road — like    a 
rash    physician    who   takes 
his     own     pills — told     the 
farmer  that  he  would  get  a 
life-pass,  the  rustic's  delight 
knew      no      bounds.        He 
allowed,    vummed    and 
swowed  that  he  would  just 
naturally  not  lose  no  time  taking  a  trip  to  Noo 
Yark,  a  town  as  he  had  always  wanted  to  have 
a  peek  at,  but  had  never  saw. 

So  everybody  was  happy — rescuer  and  res- 
cued; till  it  was  learned  that  it  would  require 
at  least  eight  hours  to  mend  the  bridge. 

In  time  the  most  profane  exhausted  their  vo- 
cabularies. There  was  nothing  to  do  but  loaf 


DE  PEYSTER  OF  NEW  YORK 


(Setting  fin  is 

and  talk.  Gradually  strangers  fell  into  conver- 
sation. The  man  across  the  aisle,  the  man  in 
front,  the  man  behind,  and  various  smokers  ad- 
dressed the  Chicagoan.  It  was  the  chance  of 
his  life.  He  snubbed  them  all,  cold  and  hard. 

But  the  ruling  passion  is  strong  in  life,  and 
silence  gave  him  such  a  sore  throat  that  he  was 
soon  buzzing  away  in  a  manner  that  led  the 
others  to  regret  their  advances. 

The  farmer  brought  buttermilk  and  crullers 
from  the  distant  farm  and  added  heaviness  both 
to  his  purse  and  to  the  systems  of  his  patrons. 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  before  the  train 
started  everybody  knew  everybody  else.  The 
most  formal  women  and  the  most  formidable 
were  chatting  freely  to  the  train  crew,  to  the 
farmer,  or  to  anyone  who  cared  to  chip  in. 

There  was  one  knot  of  male  passengers  who, 
after  exchanging  that  universal  letter  of  intro- 
duction, a  cigar,  told  one  another  their  real  names 
and  their  business — more  or  less  accurately. 
They  were  all  bound  for  New  York  and  were 
interested  to  see  how  different  their  motives 
were. 

The  Chicagoan,  A.  J.  Joyce  by  name,  was,  it 
is  needless  to  say,  bent  on  trade;  but,  strange 
to  say,  not  on  any  matter  connected  with  pork. 
He  said  he  was  the  representative  of  a  manu- 
facturer of  church  vestments.  This  interested 
a  bystander  who  buttoned  his  collar  behind.  He 
shook  hands  with  the  Chicagoan  and  said; 


IRcal  IRcw 

"I,  too,  am  a  worker  in  religious  fields.  I 
am  a  preacher,  and  I  have  been  delivering  a 
series  of  sermons  on  New  York  as  the  Home  of 
Mammon.  They  attracted  a  good  deal  of  at- 
tention in  Terre  Haute.  You  may  have  heard 
of  them.  No  ?  I'll  send  you  a  set.  Well,  you 
see,  I  have  been  basing  my  sermons  purely  on 
what  I  have  read.  So  I  thought  I'd  spend 
my  vacation  studying  the  evils  in  their  ac- 
tuality." 

The  Chicagoan  looked  a  bit  uneasy,  and  he 
walked  aside  with  a  New  Yorker. 

" Take  me  away  before  I  faint,"  he  said.  "I'm 
going  to  New  York  to  see  the  evil  side,  too ;  but 
I'm  not  going  to  preach.  I  want  to  practise. 
I  know  the  warm  spots  of  Chicago  pretty  well, 
and  I'm  tired  of  'em.  It's  my  opinion  that  New 
York  is  a  Methodist  revival  compared  to  Chi- 
cago, but  I  propose  to  give  it  a  fair  chance,  and 
see  what  it  can  do.  But  I'm  afraid  New  York 
is  a  rank  amatoor." 

"Let  me  show  you  round  a  bit,"  said  his 
companion.  "  I  am  from  New  Hampshire,  but 
I've  been  a  newspaper  man  in  New  York  for 
ten  years,  and  I  know  a  thing  or  two.  I  think 
we  can  at  least  give  you  a  run  for  your  money." 

The  reporter  (known  even  in  his  own  pro- 
fession by  the  modest  name  of  "Ananias" 
Blake)  registered  in  petto  a  vow  that  he  would 
turn  the  Chicagoan's  hair  white,  or  die  trying,  all 
for  the  greater  glory  of  Greater  New  York. 


MATINEE  GIRLS 


(Setting  flu 


17 


At  the  same  moment  a  younger  man  was 
taking  the  minister  aside  and  saying: 

"Perhaps  I  can  aid  you,  suh.     I'm  from  the 

So'th  originally,  suh;  but 
I  know  New  Yawk  well, 
and  I  can  show  you  the 
truth  abo't  its  vicious- 
ness." 

There  was  an  ominous 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  which 
the  grateful  parson  did 
not  see. 

"And  may  I  ask  what 
is  your  profession  ?" 

"Don't  shoot,  but  I'm 
a  poet  by  trade,"  said 
the  youth,  with  a  blush 
of  shame.  "By  name, 
Peter  Simes."  He 
blushed  again.  "My 
parents  were  not  poets, 
and  I'll  never  live  down 

my  name.     But  I'd  like  to  show  you  the  true 
wickedness  of  New  Yawk." 

He  did  not  add  that  he  was  a  disciple  of 
Walt  Whitman,  and,  like  him,  believed  that  the 
city  of  Manhattan  is  the  greatest  and  best  in 
the  world  and  can  do  no  wrong.  He  did  not 
confess  his  dark  plan  to  keep  the  preacher  from 
seeing  anything  but  the  good  side  of  the 
metropolis,  which  is  a  metropolis  in  vice  no  less 


THE    FRENCH    TWINS 


is  Gbe  iRcal  1Rew  JPorfc 

than  in  earnestness  and  magnificent  charity. 
But  Simes  vowed  to  send  that  preacher  back  to 
Terre  Haute  convinced  that  New  York  needs 
only  a  little  jasper  to  be  a  heavenly  home. 

Meanwhile,  the  born  New  Yorker,  Gerald  De 
Peyster,  had  unbent  enough  to  strike  up  a  flirta- 
tion with  a  girl  from  San  Francisco,  who,  like 
most  of  the  women  from  that  Paris  of  the  Pa- 
cific, was  distinguished,  sophis- 
ticated, pretty  and  vivacious, 
with  a  something  different  that 
could  hardly  be  called  frisky, 
but — let  us  say  Sanfrancisky. 

Miss  Myrtle  Collis  said  she 
was  on  her  way  to  Europe  to 
study  painting  in  Paris.  The 

\delay  of  the  train  made  her 
nervous.  She  had  a  steamer  to 
catch  the  next  morning,  and  she 
had  certain  purchases  to  make 

lH.Iii    I  AlvlSON 

before  she  could  sail,  and  she 
was  afraid  she  would  be  left  behind. 

'You're  not  going  through  New  York  with- 
out stopping!"  said  De  Peyster. 

"Oh,  everybody  says  there's  nothing  worth 
seeing,"  Miss  Collis  sneered,  prettily.  "It's 
just  a  big,  ugly  commercial  town.  Nobody 
lives  there  that  can  live  abroad,  and  everybody 
who  lives  there  thinks  only  of  money  and 
excitement.  There's  no  artistic  atmosphere. 
The  Quartier  Latin  for  me— 


(Betting  flu  19 

The  lone,  lorn  Frenchmen,  who  had  drifted 
about  exiled  by  their  language,  pricked  up  their 
ears  at  the  two  familiar  words,  and,  lifting  their 
hats,  exclaimed: 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle,  est-ce  que—  — ?  " 
—vous  aimez  le  Quartier  Latin?  ': 

"  Oui,  oui!  beaucoup,  beaucoup!"  said  the 
girl,  in  purest  San  Francisco  French.  "Mais  je 
netais  jamais  la,  vous  savez,  messieurs." 

The  New  Yorker  spoke  French  too,  so  the 
four  were  soon  rattling  away,  and  De  Peyster 
warmed  to  the  task  of  defending  New  York  as  a 
rival  of  Paris.  Furthermore,  he  added  that  an 
English  friend  of  his  was  to  land  the  next  day, 
and  he  was  determined  to  convince  him  that 
New  York  could  also  give  London  points  on 
general  joy. 

De  Peyster  kept  trying  to  shunt  the  French- 
men off  on  a  switch,  and  at  last  he  got  Miss  Collis 
away  from  their  devoted  courtesies. 

"I  wish  I  had  a  chance,"  he  said,  earnestly, 
"to  prove  to  you  how  unjust  you  are  to  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  cosmopolitan,  the  least  ap- 
preciated city  in  the  world,  my  New  York." 

"But  I  must  catch  that  steamer,"  Miss  Collis 
protested.  "If  I  miss  it  I'll  have  to  spend  a 
week." 

"I  hope  you  miss  it,"  he  said.  "If  you  do, 
will  you  let  me  prove  what  I  say  ?" 

"  Isn't  this  a  rather  short  acquaintance  ?" 

"Oh,  but,  if  you'll  pardon  me,  I'm  a  gentle- 


20  Cbe  iReal  mew  Jflorfc 

man,  thanks  at  least  to  my  family — the  De  Peys- 
ter  crowd,  you  know." 

"All  right,"  she  answered,  cheerily.  "I'm 
not  afraid  even  of  a  De  Peyster.  But  to  make 
it  interesting,  suppose  we  make  a  bet.  If  you 
can't  convince  me,  you'll  give  me  a  box  of  gloves. 
If  you  do,  I'll  give  you  a  box  of  cigars." 

"Er — who's  to  select  the  cigars?"  he  asked, 
anxiously. 

"The  winner!"  she  cried.  And  they  shook 
hands  on  it,  just  as  the  French  twins  surrounded 
them  again.  They  had  been  at  one  side  quar- 
reling over  the  beautiful  Americaine;  each 
claimed  to  have  seen  her  first. 

A  light  shower  came  up  now,  and  drove 
everyone  back  to  the  train.  Eventually  it 
moved  off,  and,  in  an  hour,  was  emptying  its 
human  freight  at  Jersey  City. 

As  they  crossed  on  the  ferry,  they  were  all 
old  friends  for  the  time  being.  De  Peyster 
had  actually  added  Miss  Collis's  hand-baggage 
to  his  own.  The  rain  had  passed  and  the 
sunset  was  gorgeous  on  the  sky  behind  them; 
but  their  eyes  were  only  for  the  city  ahead.  It 
was  silhouetted  in  glistening  shadow  against 
the  ashen  East,  and  loomed  like  a  twilit  sierra, 
star-sprinkled,  and  spangled  with  ten  thousand 
lights. 

There  before  them  was  the  famous  sky-line, 
a  contour  as  distinct  from  any  other  in  the 
world  as  that  of  London,  or  Moscow,  Constanti- 


(Setting  Hn 


21 


nople,  or  Benares;  not  low  and  scrawly  as  the 
profile  of  other  cities,  but  bulking  enormous; 
out  of  the  mass  of  great  buildings,  greater  build- 
ings rising  unimaginably 
high,  like  huge  stalac- 
tites thrusting  upward. 
"Compared  with 
New  York,"  cried  De 
Peyster,  "every  other 
city  in  the  world  is  a 
squat  little  village." 

The  broad 
river  was  rest- 
1  e  s  s  with 
waves  chop- 
ping every 
which  way, 
and  these 
numerable 
with  wet  color 
The  stream 
tumbling 
where  tough 
g  e  r  i  n  g  and 
of  commerce. 


MISS    MYRTLE    COLLIS 


were   scooped    into    in- 
little  cups  splashing  over 
of     all     conceivable     dyes, 
was   crisscrossed   with   the 
wakes  of  ferryboats.    Every 
little  tugboats   were  swag- 
shoving    the  overloaded   barges 


But  the  gloaming  sanctified  all,  and  the  briny 
smell  of  new-washed  air  was  an  incense  that 
stung  the  nostrils  with  delight. 

The  western  sky,  filled  with  the  sunset,  was 
one  long  banner  of  living  glory.  To  the  south 
rose  a  colossal  statue  of  empurpled  shadow,  in 


22 


IRcai 


whose  exalted  hand  was  a  high  torch,  which  at 
that  very  moment  blossomed  into  fire. 

"Look!"  exclaimed  the  young  Southern  poet, 
"Liberty!"  And  he  caught  off  his  hat  in  an 
impulse  of  reverence. 


CHAPTER  II 

GETTING      ROUND THE    HOTEL    FOR    LONE    WOMEN THE 

NEW  YORK  SKY7A9.  ITALY'S THE  FLATIRON,  ITS  BEAUTY 

AND    ITS    BREEZES TWENTY-THIRD    STREET    AND    FIFTH 

AVENUE,  AND  THE  PAGEANT  OF  FAIR  WOMEN A  DEPART- 
MENT STORE;   SHOPPERS   AND  SHOPGIRLS — A  STEAMER 

LANDING PASSING       THE       CUSTOMS THE        ELEVATED 

RAILROAD THE    SUBWAY THE    NEW    YORK    RUSH    AND 

TRANSIT   PROBLEMS 

THE  next  morning — a  Saturday — De  Peys- 
ter  was  swinging  spickly  and  spanly 
down  Fifth  Avenue  toward  his  club.  He  was 
thinking  of  his  chance  acquaintance  from  San 
Francisco.  No  friends  had  met  her  the  evening 
before  at  the  New  Jersey  or  the  New  York  ferry 
houses;  for,  as  she  had  explained,  she  knew  no 
one  in  New  York  and  was  going  to  sail  straight 
for  France  the  next  noon. 

She  had  allowed  him  to  ride  up  with  her  to 
the  Hotel  Martha  Washington,  under  the  segis 
of  whose  name  lone  women  are  chaperoned  from 
evil  appearances.  Miss  Collis  had  insisted  on 
paying  her  own  cab-fare,  and  had  almost  indig- 
nantly declined  De  Peyster's  invitation  to  join 
him  at  dinner,  theatre  or  supper. 

But  this  morning  he  still  thought  of  her — a 
long  remembrance  for  De  Peyster.  And  when 
he  reached  his  club  he  passed  by  on  the  other 


24  Cbe  IReal 

side.  He  said  to  himself  that  it  was  the  crisp 
and  spicy  air,  but  he  knew  it  was  a  desire  to 
tempt  Fate  into  a  coincidence.  He  turned  aside 
at  what  Mr.  Henry  James  would  call  "the" 
Thirtieth  Street  and  dawdled  by  the  door  of  the 
tall,  stern  hotel,  which,  outwardly  at  least,  bears 
more  resemblance  to  George  than  to  Martha. 
Several  women  issued  from  the 'door,  but  De 
Peyster  regarded  them  with  disdain. 

Then  he  walked  round  the  block  and  dawdled 
past  the  Twenty-ninth  Street  entrance.  More 
women — but  not  the  woman.  Just  ahead  of 
him,  however,  he  thought  he  saw  a  familiar 
form.  He  doubled  his  pace.  The  Form  turned 
down  Fifth  Avenue.  De  Peyster  hurried  after 
it  in  most  undignified  fashion.  At  length  he 
overtook  it.  It  was  Hers.  He  luffed  up  along- 
side and  spoke  her. 

"Lovely  day!" 

She  did  not  look  at  him.  He  repeated  his 
observation.  She  answered  sternly,  without 
looking : 

"I'll  call  a  policeman,  sir,  if  you  molest  me." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Collis,  have  you  forgotten 
me  so  soon  ?" 

"Why,  it's— it's— Mr.— "  She  had  forgot- 
ten his  name,  but  she  put  out  her  hand. 

He  gave  her  his  hand  and  his  name  as  he  lifted 
his  hat. 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid?" 

"  Going  a-shopping,  sir,  she  sayed." 


(Betting  IRounb 


25 


"May  I  go  with  you,  my  pretty  maid  ?" 

"A  shopgirl  might  steal  you,  sir,  she  sayed." 

The  antiphonal  service  was  getting  beyond 
him.  He  broke  off,  "But  what  about  your 
steamer?" 

"I  sent  my  trunks  to  the  dock  by  an  express- 
man, for,  as  I  told  you  yesterday,  even  if  I  miss 
the  steamer,  I've  simply 
got  to  buy  some — some 
things." 

They  strode  along  to- 
gether. He  liked  her 
because  she  took  long 
Steps  and  he  need  not 
mince  to  keep  pace 
with  her. 

"Take  a  little  of  this 
New  York  air  with 
you,"  said  De  Peyster. 
"You'll  get  nothing 

like  it   in  Paris.     And  take  along  a  few  yards  of 
this  cerulean  sky — our  own  exclusive  make." 

She  expanded  her  athletic  chest  and  said,  "  The 
air  does  taste  good!" 

He  went  on:  "I  remember  that  when  I  went 
to  Italy  I  set  up  a  howl,  'Where's  that  marvel- 
ous Italian  sky  I've  always  read  about  ?'  '  Right 
over  your  head,'  I  was  told,  '  and  a  particularly 
fine  one  this  morning,  too.'  But  I  answered, 
'  Why,  New  York  can  beat  that  on  a  rainy  day !' 
And  when  William  Archer  came  over  from  Lon- 


THEY    MEET    AGAIN 


26  £be  IReal  IRew  lj)orh 

don  to  inspect  us,  he  said  the  air  was  like  old 
sherry  with  flecks  of  gold  in  it.  It's  a  fact,  this 
city  has  the  most  beautiful  sky  in  all  the  world— 
and  the  finest  climate,  bar  a  week  or  two  of 
Hades  in  summer  and  a  few  days  of  Green- 
land's icy  in  winter." 

"  It's  a  little  windy  to-day,"  said  Miss  Collis, 
who  was  hanging  on  to  her  skirts  with  one  half- 
paralyzed  hand. 

"Wait  till  we  come  to  the  Flatiron  Building!" 
he  said.  "There  it  is,  dead  ahead  of  us.  Isn't 
it  a  beauty  ?  Some  people  say  it  is  hideous,  but 
I  think  it's  as  perfect,  in  its  way,  as  the  Par- 
thenon." 

"Sacrilege!"  cried  the  art  student. 

"What's  the  Parthenon  but  a  very  beautiful 
shed,  built  like  a  wooden  barn,  only  with  marble 
beams  and  gables  and  with  statuary  instead  of 
circus  posters  pasted  on  it  ?  The  Flatiron  is  like 
a  glorious  white  ship.  See!  ' It  starts,  it  moves, 
it  seems  to  feel  the  thrill  of  life  along  its  keel!' 
And  how  wonderfully  it  dresses  up  the  vista! 
After  wre  lost  the  Dewey  arch,  because  Dewey 
gave  away  the  house  they  gave  him,  I  don't 
know  how  we  ever  used  to  get  along  without 
the  Flatiron.  You  ought  to  see  a  side  view;  it's 
not  so  pretty,  but  very  striking." 

With  malice  prepense  he  led  her  round  Madison 
Square,  so  that  she  could  cross  directly  in  front 
of  the  bows  of  the  skyscraper — or  "cloud  scratch- 
er"  (Wolkenkratzer),  as  the  Germans  call  it. 


(Scttimj  1Roun& 


27 


As  they 
a  p p r oach- 
e  d  ,  s  h  e 
noted  little 
groups  of 
men  stand- 
ing in  knots 
at  lee-cor- 
ners. 

"What 
are  those 
men  watch- 
ing?" 

"They're 
art  students 
and  c  o  n  - 
noisseurs," 
he  said; 
"t  h  ough 
some  of 


them,  I  think, 
must  be  dry- 
goods  men, 
waiting  to  learn 
the  newest  styles 
in  hosiery." 

The  wind  was 
a  zesty  breeze 
elsewhere,  but  it 
was  a  gale 
round  this 
building,  whose 
owners  were 
once  actually 
1  sued  for  raising 
such  a  wind  as 
kept  smashing 
in  the  plate  glass 
of  nearby  shops. 


THE    FLATIRON   ON    A    WINDY    DAY 


28  ftbe  iReal  IHew  U)orft 

"Look  at  that  hat!"  cried  De  Peyster.  And 
Miss  Collis  saw  a  tiny  derby  soaring  like  a  kite 
as  high  as  the  eighteenth  or  twentieth  story  of 
the  building.  Other  hats  and  newspapers  were 
dancing  here  and  there  at  the  height  of  a  church 
steeple.  But  Miss  Collis  had  little  time  to  watch 
these  aeronautics,  for  she  had  troubles  of  her 
own.  She  must  tuck  her  chin  into  her  breast 
to  keep  her  hat  from  joining  the  others  and  tak- 
ing her  hair  with  it.  Indeed,  she  must  bend  al- 
most double  to  walk  at  all,  and  De  Peyster  had 
to  take  her  arm  to  keep  the  wind  from  driving 
her  under  the  wheels  of  passing  cars  and  cabs. 
As  for  her  skirts,  though  she  clung  to  them  with 
both  hands,  they  snapped  and  swirled  about  her 
like  a  flag  in  a  tempest.  She  was  buffeted  into 
other  women,  who  were  trying  vainly  to  keep 
down  appearances;  the  skirts  of  some  were  actu- 
ally blown  over  their  heads. 

But  they  rounded  the  dangerous  point  in 
safety,  and  in  the  lee  of  the  building  Miss  Collis 
paused  to  rearrange  her  hair  and  put  to  her  com- 
panion the  momentous  question: 

"Is  my  hat  on  straight?" 

"It's  just  right,"  he  answered,  with  flattery 
pouring  out  of  his  eyes.  Then  he  added:  "By 
the  way,  you  are  now  standing  on  historic 
ground.  This  is  the  point  of  which  some  wise 
man  said — even  before  the  Flatiron  day — '  More 
beautiful  women  pass  this  spot  in  one  hour  than 
pass  any  other  spot  in  the  world  in  twenty- 


(Belting  IRounfc  29 

four.'  And  now  that  you  are  passing  it,  the 
proverb  is  forever  proved.'' 

She  paused  awhile  to  watch  the  parade.  It 
was,  indeed,  an  Olympic  sight,  a  march-past  of 
goddesses,  demi-goddesses,  nymphs  and  dryads, 
with  a  few  specimens  of  ordinary  human  femi- 
ninity thrown  in,  and  a  negligible  quantity  of 
mere  man. 

"  Compared  with  these  queens  and  princesses," 
said  De  Peyster,  "the  English  women  along  Re- 
gent Street  are  awkward  and  badly  dressed 
frumps,  the  waddlers  along  the  Unter  den  Lin- 
den are  cattle  and  the  women  of  Italy 
are  only  large-eyed  cows.  The  beauties  of 
France  used  to  rival  ours,  and  even  the 
medinettes  of  Paris  are  well  gowned,  but  so 
are  our  shopgirls,  and  New  York  is  now 
supreme." 

Here,  in  a  thick  current,  the  daughters  of  lib- 
erty and  commercial  democracy  moved  in  an 
overwhelming  array  of  beauty.  Those  who  were 
too  poor  to  wear  gorgeous  raiment  could  at  least 
wear  frocks  well  fitted.  Those  whom  nature  had 
not  dowered  with  the  grace  of  form  appealed  to 
art  to  conceal  the  defects.  And  almost  all  car- 
ried themselves  with  that  easy  hauteur  that  dis- 
tinguishes the  New  York  woman.  They  made 
no  hypocrisy  of  meekness,  but  marched  along 
alluringly,  emphasizing  their  physical  graces  by 
their  carriage  and  gathering  their  skirts  about 
them  with  a  frankness  astounding  to  the  for- 


30  ftbe  IReal  IRew 

eigner,  inspiring  to  the  sculptor  and  bewildering 
to  the  plain,  prim  citizen. 

"For  the  last  few  years,"  said  De  Peyster, 
"the  costumes  of  women  have  been  wonderfully 
beautiful.  They  always  seemed  fascinating  to 
me,  whatever  the  style,  but  they  have  seemed 
particularly  artistic  of  recent  years." 

'That's  because  we're  staying  close  to  na- 
ture," said  the  art  student  from  San  Francisco. 
"We  always  used  to  have  to  wear  some  mon- 
strosity. If  it  wasn't  hoop-skirts,  it  was  a  bustle; 
if  it  wasn't  barrel  corsets,  it  was  balloon  sleeves. 
Now  the  women's  costumes  follow  the  lines  of 
the  form." 

"I  should  say  they  do!"  said  De  Peyster. 
"Look  at  that  stunner." 

One  of  those  big,  Juno-like  New  Yorkesses 
was  passing.  Her  great  hat  was  a  tour  de  force 
of  beauty;  her  hair  was  daringly  handled  in  line 
and  mass;  her  copious  furs  did  not  smother  her 
gracile  curves;  her  walk  was  defiant  yet  inviting. 
She  was  followed  by  two  long,  slender,  aris- 
tocratic Gibson  girls,  and  these  by  a  bevy 
of  Christy  creations,  Wenzell  women,  Gilbert 
graces,  Clay  clingers,  Hutt  houris,  Aspell  allur- 
ers,  Smedley  smilers,  Stanlaws  stunners,  Crosby 
creations  and  all  the  other  types  that  have  made 
fame  for  artists  and  trouble  for  mankind. 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  find  one  woman 
who  had  not  some  especial  attractiveness  of  face, 
form,  garb  or  carriage.  The  average  was  amaz- 


(Betting  IRounb  31 

ingly  high,  and  those  who  were  better  than  the 
average  were  so  ravishingly  fair  that  one  could 
imagine  himself  a  grand  vizier  at  an  Orien- 
tal slave-mart,  or  the  conqueror  of  a  great  city 
reviewing  the  spoils  of  war. 

The  reason  for  this  wealth  of  beauty  has  been 
perhaps  best  sought  in  the  mixed  blood  of  the 
Americans;  this  mingling  of  races  not  only  seems 
to  redound  to  vivacity  of  mind  and  charm  of 
mien,  but  it  brings  about  an  unending  variety 
of  feature,  complexion  and  personality  that  for- 
bids a  New  York  street  scene  any  of  that  cloying 
monotony  of  type  that  marks  the  other  boule- 
vards of  the  world.  But,  whatever  the  explana- 
tion, certain  it  is  that  no  man  ever  stood  and 
watched  this  thronging  embarrassment  of  beauty 
who  could  not  sympathize  with  De  Peyster  when 
at  length  he  sighed  deeply  and  said,  "Come 
away!  Men  have  been  known  to  go  mad  from 
lingering  here  too  long.  This  is  the  rock  of  the 
ten  thousand  Loreleis." 

They  moved  on  down  the  stream  of  woman- 
kind. As  they  started  to  enter  one  of  the  big 
department  stores,  Miss  Collis  looked  at  the 
clock  and  gasped: 

"My  steamer!  I'll  hardly  have  time  to  make 
it.  But  I  must  buy  those — those  things." 

"I'll  come  help  you,"  said  De  Peyster. 

"No,  you  won't!"  she  answered,  grimly. 
'You'll  wait  here  at  the  door." 

'You'd  better  check  me;  you  might  lose  me," 


32  Gbe  IReal  IRcw 

"No  such  luck,"  she  answered,  but  she  soft- 
ened the  words  with  a  smile. 

The  swinging  doors  shut  her  from  view,  and 
De  Peyster  stood  in  the  vestibule,  feeling  like  a 
fool  among  so  many  women.  Then  he  began 
to  be  almost  afraid,  although  the  battalions  of 
charging  Amazons  paid  no  more  heed  to  him 
than  to  one  another.  They  stepped  on  his  toes, 
hit  him  in  the  eye  with  their  bundles,  walked 
into  him,  glared  at  him — all  without  a  word  of 
regret. 

He  held  the  door  for  half  a  dozen,  but,  as  none 
of  them  acknowledged  his  existence  or  even 
looked  a  "Thank  you,"  he  let  the  rest  bunt 
through  as  best  they  could  and  rejoiced  at  every 
one  of  those  rudenesses  that  only  bargain-hunt- 
resses can  inflict. 

This  department  store  was  like  all  the  others 
in  every  large  city  of  either  continent,  for  Lon- 
don has  its  Whiteley's  and  Paris  its  Magazin  du 
Louvre.  But  the  New  York  shopgirl  is  perhaps 
distinguished  above  her  fellows  in  other  places 
by  her  contempt  for  shoppers.  She  has  had  a 
Laura  Jean  Libbeyral  education,  and  knows  that 
all  haughty  shopgirls  marry  millionaires.  The 
New  York  salesgirls  have  had  beauty  contests 
in  the  journals,  and  one  newspaper  published 
a  novel,  each  instalment  of  which  was  written 
by  a  saleslady — or  at  least  the  paper  made  this 
claim.  And  when  you  see  it  in  a  newspaper, 
it's  so-so. 


w&str. 


THE  CZAR  OF  THE  DEPARTMENT  STORE 


(Betting  IRounb  33 

Poor  Miss  Collis  was  in  a  frantic  hurry,  and 
with  good  cause;  but,  as  everyone  else  showed 
equal  frenzy,  the  shopgirl  was  not  moved.  At 
last,  Miss  Collis  exclaimed,  appealingly: 

"Would  you  please  wait  on  me?  I've  got  to 
catch  a  steamer." 

The  sales-duchess  only  leered  at  her,  shifted 
her  gum  to  the  starboard  side  and  went  on  in  a 
languid  drawl  to  the  cashgirl,  who  leaned  down 
like  a  blessed  damozel  from  her  shrine  while 
cash-boxes  waited  unheeded  and  distant  cus- 
tomers were  perishing  with  tedium.  The  shop- 
girl's conversation  flowed  on  in  a  mellifluous 
stream : 

"Well,  zize  sayn,  betchersweet  life  Idallow  no 
ladifren  to  come  between  himman  I.  So,  wen- 
neesez  tumee,  'Ahgwan,  Mag!'  sezzee,  'whadjer 
givinmi?'  I  upsansez,  'Umabe  a  swell  floor- 
walker,' s'l,  'butcherno  gent,'  s'l." 

"  Onnesdidju  ?"  exclaimed  the  cashlady. 

"Hopmadyfydiddn,"  and  with  a  toss  of  her 
regal  head  she  carefully  manicured  her  nails, 
while  eleven  frantic  shoppers  gnashed  their  teeth. 
"Nizez — no,  madam,  we're  all  out  of  those — I 
haven't  one  left."  There  were  half  a  dozen  of 
Them  in  front  of  her,  but  she  must  finish  her 
story.  "Nisez — funny  how  some  people  butts 
into  a  conv'sation,  eh,  Carrie? — Nisez— 

Miss  Collis,  by  dint  of  ruthless  football  tac- 
tics, elbowed  to  the  counter,  picked  out  what 

she  wanted  and  said,  with  vitriolic  tone: 
3 


34  £be  iRcal  IHcw 


"How  much  are  these?" 
"Nisez- 


"And  I  say,  how  much  are  these?" 

There  was  murder  in  her  eyes.  The  shop- 
girl gave  her  a  scornful  glance,  sneered  the  price 
and  turned  away. 

"I'll  take  them,"  said  Miss  Collis,  fiercely. 
"My  change,  please;  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

A  long  delay  ensued  in  making  out  a  dupli- 
cate bill,  handing  the  money  to  the  cashgirl, 
who  took  the  things  dreamily  and  after  a  while 
tied  them  up,  made  change  with  the  speed  of  a 
lotos-eater  and  slowly  handed  them  to  the  sales- 
lady. Miss  Collis  grabbed  them  and  fled,  while 
the  countess  of  the  counter  went  blandly  on: 

"Nisez  to  him- 

In  other  departments  Miss  Collis  had  the  same 
experiences.  By  the  time  she  had  finished  her 
purchases,  the  Recording  Angel  had  writer's 
cramp  putting  down  her  mental  expressions. 
When  at  last  she  reached  the  door,  she  was  a 
bundle  of  nerves.  She  carried  several  other 
bundles.  Poor  De  Peyster  was  almost  a  worse 
wreck;  he  was  so  ashamed  of  himself  for  being 
a  mere  man  and  being  caught  in  such  a  mael- 
strom of  harpies  that  he  even  volunteered  to 
carry  the  bundles.  In  a  New  York  man  this  is 
a  sign  of  mad  devotion  or  incipient  softening  of 
the  brain. 

"You'll  never  catch  that  boat,"  he  said,  an- 
grily. He  was  so  mad  at  himself  and  her  that 


(Settino  1Roun& 


35 


he  almost  added,  "I'm  sorry  to  say."  They 
were  both  so  distracted  with  rage  that  they  took 
the  escalator  up  to  the  Elevated  station.  With 
characteristic  American  hurry,  they  walked  up 
the  moving  stairway.  They  found  themselves,  of 
course,  on  the  wrong  platform,  and  were  forced  to 
cross  the  street.  De  Peyster  was  so  befuddled  with 
bundles  that  he  led  her  across  Twenty-third 
Street  instead  of  Sixth  Avenue,  and  they  climbed 
only  to  find  themselves  again  on  the  same  plat- 
form. 

He  called  himself  a  special 
kind  of  fool,  and  both  felt 
better.  They  descended 
again,  and  at  last  reached  the 
right  station,  just  in  time  to 
have  the  gates  slammed  in 
their  faces  by  a  triumphant 
guard.  The  next  train 
seemed  a  long  while  arriving 
at  their  starting  point  and  a 
longer  while  reaching  their 
destination.  Then  they  ran. 
They  reached  the  pier,  just 
in  time  to  expel  their  last  breath  in  a  sigh.  The 
steamer  was  already  out  in  midstream.  The 
people  on  the  dock  had  even  ceased  to  wave 
their  handkerchiefs  at  nobody  in  particular 
and  yell  "Bong  voyazh"  at  everybody  in 
general. 

"My  ticket  is  good  for  the  next  boat,"  Miss 


CASH 


36  £be  IReal  mew  Jflork 

Collis  moaned,  disconsolately.  "But  it  doesn't 
go  for  a  week." 

"Will  you  wait  here  on  the  pier  for  it?"  said 
De  Peyster,  weakly,  from  among  his  bundles. 
She  withered  him  with  a  look  and  said  that  he 
might  take  her  back  to  her  hotel. 

He  cast  a  farewell  glance  down  the  river  and 
exclaimed:  "By  Jove!  there's  a  steamer  coming 
in.  It's  the  Cedric,  and  my  old  friend  Calverly 
—the  Honorable  John  Calverly — is  aboard  her; 
younger  son  of  the  peerage  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  Let's  find  your  trunks  and  send  them 
back  to  your  hotel  with  these  bundles,  and  we'll 
go  watch  the  Cedric  come  in.  She's  one  of  the 
biggest  passenger  steamers  in  the  world.  And 
maybe  Calverly  and  I  can  cheer  you  up,  Miss 
Collis,  while  you  wait  for  your  next  steamer." 

'This  is  all  rather  informal,"  she  hesitated. 

"Nonsense!  A  bachelor  girl  like  you  can  take 
care  of  herself  in  New  York  for  a  week,  if  she's 
going  alone  to  Paris  for  a  year." 

What  was  there  to  fear?  Who  was  to  know 
of  her  bohemianism  ?  She  flung  conventional- 
ity aside  and  said: 

"All  right,  come  along." 

The  huge  steamer  came  slowly  and  gingerly 
up  the  river,  trying  to  keep  from  stepping  on 
any  of  the  mob  of  tugs.  The  decks  were 
crowded  with  voyagers  rejoicing  to  see  the  land 
again.  The  rapture  of  passing  Sandy  Hook, 
that  welcome  beacon  which  says,  "The  dangers 


(Betting  IRounb  37 

of  the  sea  are  ended,"  the  exultation  of  the 
cruise  up  the  noble  Bay  to  the  Narrows,  with 
its  two  fortresses  whose  grim  engines  are  hidden 
behind  peaceful  green  lawns,  and  then  into  the 
harbor  of  broad  waters,  the  quaint  little  cheese- 
box  of  the  Revolution-time  fort  on  Governor's 
Island,  the  strangeness  of  the  mountain-cluster 
of  tall  buildings  at  the  lower  peak  of  New  York 
—a  sight  radically  strange  to  their  Old- World- 
weary  eyes — all  these  had  raised  the  passengers 
to  a  state  of  almost  hysterical  joy.  Homesick- 
ness was  finished,  patriotism  took  a  sudden  leap. 
The  delay  at  Quarantine  and  the  formalities  of 
perjury  before  the  customs  officer  had  only 
whetted  their  excitement. 

As  the  leviathan  was  slowly  and  groaningly 
persuaded  into  the  slip  by  the  snub-nosed  sharks 
of  tugs,  the  people  on  the  dock  were  picking  out 
their  friends  and  exchanging  trite  welcomes  and 
silly  jokes  in  loud,  childish  voices. 

De  Peyster  was  a  long  while  making  out  Cal- 
verly;  then  he  waved  frantically  at  him  and  called 
him  by  name.  Calverly  alone  seemed  to  be  ut- 
terly indifferent  to  the  excitement  of  landing; 
indeed,  he  looked  rather  bored,  and  even  when 
he  recognized  De  Peyster  he  simply  flapped  his 
hand,  grinned  wearily  and  gurgled: 

"Helloelloello!" 

Then  he  disappeared  from  the  rail. 

"What  will  he  think  of  me?"  said  Miss 
Collis. 


38  £bc  IRcal  IRcw 

'That's  true.  I'll  tell  him  you're  my  cousin 
—if  you  don't  mind." 

"But  aren't  we  getting  along  rather  fast?" 
asked  Miss  Collis. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  We've  only  a  week 
ahead  of  us,  and  we  must  make  the  most  of  our 
short  honeymoon." 

"Well,  I  like  that!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Good  for  you;  so  do  I." 

The  gangplank  was  aboard  now,  and  the 
passengers,  like  driven  sheep,  came  catapulting 
down  it  into  the  arms  of  friends  and  relatives. 
One  fat  man  slipped  at  the  top  and  came  down 
with  all  fours  in  air. 

"Good  slide!  Keep  your  base!"  sang  out  a 
voice  in  umpire  tones.  It  was  A.  J.  Joyce,  the 
Chicagoan.  He  was  with  "Ananias"  Blake,  to 
whom  he  said,  cynically,  "So  that's  an  ocean 
liner!  Why,  it  isn't  so  terrible  much  bigger  than 
one  of  our  Great  Lake  steamers." 

There  were  the  usual  meetings  of  fond  souls 
whom  an  ocean  had  divided.  Here  was  one  who 
rushed  into  the  arms  of  bad  news;  another  who 
had  left  London  a  rich  man  and  found  in  New 
York  that  he  was  a  pauper,  the  stock  market 
having  taken  a  day  off.  Here  were  prim  people 
who  kissed  like  game-cocks  trying  for  each 
other's  wattles;  here  were  young  lovers  who 
made  no  secret  of  long,  lingering  osculation. 
Here  was  a  callow  youth  who  greeted  his  fond 
parent  with,  "Gad,  it's  a  good  thing  you  met 


(Betting  TRounb 


39 


me,  Guv'nor:  I  haven't  even  carfare;  came  up 
another  companionway  to  escape  tipping  the 
library  steward." 

"Poker  in  the  smoker?" 

"Well — er — a  little;  there  was  a  professional 
gambler  on  board,  you  know." 

Here  was  a  wo- 
man who  cried  out 
lovingly  to  her  long- 
lost  husband:  "Did 
you  bring  me  that 
pearl  necklace  and 
those  fifty  pairs  of 
gloves  ?"  and  the 
greeting  which  this 
Ulysses  bestowed  on 
his  Penelope  was, 
"Hush,  idiot!— the 
customs  officers!" 

Last  of  all  Cal- 
verly  ambled  down 
and  gave  De  Peys- 
ter  a  fishy  eye  and  a  fishy  fin. 

"Do  you  know,  it's  awf'ly  good  of  you  to 
come;  it  is  really,"  he  moaned. 

De  Peyster  said:  "May  I  present  you  to 
Miss  Collis — my  cousin?" 

The  Chicagoan  was  preparing  to  edge  in,  but 
when  he  heard  the  word  "cousin"  he  looked 
askance  at  Blake  and  fell  back,  murmuring: 

"Cousins  already!      This  is  no  place  for  us." 


THE    WHITE    MAN'S    BURDEN 


40  Gbe  iReal  mew 


Calverly  was  impatient  for  the  fray.  He  said: 
"Come  along,  old  chap!  Where  shall  I  have 
my  luggage  sent  ?  Any  decent  'otels  in  this  vil- 
lage ?" 

The  English  have  not  yet  Anglicized  hotel; 
they  still  spell  it  with  a  circumflex,  and  say 
"speciality"  —a  pronunciation  reserved  for  our 
illiterates. 

"We  have  the  best  and  the  worst  hotels  in 
the  world,"  said  De  Peyster.  "But  your  lug- 
gage hasn't  been  inspected." 

"But  I  say,  old  man,  I  swore  to  a  lot  of  lingo 
on  the  steamer;  didn't  mention  a  few  things, 
but  —  but  nobody  does,  you  know." 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference.  They'll 
have  to  see  for  themselves." 

"  Won't  take  a  gentleman's  word,  eh  ?  That's 
needlessly  insulting,  isn't  it  ?  And  it  will  be  very 
embarrassing  if  they  find  those  things  I  neglected, 
won't  it  ?" 

"It's  a  custom  of  the  country." 

Calverly  looked  suspiciously  at  De  Peyster, 
pondered  a  moment,  then  haw-hawed  with  start- 
ling abruptness. 

"Rather  good,  old  fell  Custom  of  the  coun- 
try —  '  custom'  !  I  see  that.  Really  !  You  Yan- 
kees have  such  a  sense  of  humor!  They  told 
me  I'd  no  sooner  land  than  you'd  begin  spring- 
ing w'eezes  on  me.  But  I  understood  the  first 
one,  didn't  I  ?  Oh,  I'll  get  on!" 

Calverly  grew  sober  as  he  saw  his  boxes  pried 


(Setting  IRounb 


41 


open  and  the  contents  ruthlessly  ransacked. 
His  amateurish  smuggling  was  soon  discovered, 
and  he  paid  handsomely  for  the  "oversight." 
To  many  of  the  women  passengers  the  scene  was 
more  embarrassing,  and  articles  that  are  rarely 
shown  except  in  front  of  the  Flatiron  Building 
were  exposed  by  the  half-dozen.  Some  of  the 
women  were  brought  to  the  edge  of  tears  by  this 
medieval  system  of  border  hold-up.  How  much 
the  fear  of  detection  had  to  do  with  the  hyster- 
ics it  would  be  as  impolite  to 
say  as  it  would  be  to  hint  that 
woman  is  by  nature  a  contra- 
bandista  and  would  rather 
smuggle  than  eat. 

Calverly  had  been  so  long  in 
getting  an  inspector  for 
his  belongings  and  so 
deliberate  about  paying 
his  fine  that  he  was  the 
last  to  be  passed.  By 
this  time  every  cab  had 
been  filled.  It  would 
take  time  to  get  one  by 
telephone,  so  De  Peys- 
ter  said: 

"Better  wait  till  you're  strong  enough  to  stand 
the  shock  of  American  cab-tariff.  It's  just  about 
four  times  yours.  We'll  ride  up  on  the  Elevated. 
You'll  get  a  sight  of  the  great  democracy  in 
action." 


A    SIDEWALK    MERCHANT 


42  ftbc  IRcal  IRcw  H>ork 

The  first  train  they  caught  was  packed  almost 
to  suffocation,  and  the  leisurely  Calverly  was  for 
awaiting  the  next. 

"Anyone  could  tell  you're  no  New  Yorker," 
said  De  Peyster.  "In  the  New  Yorker's  lexicon 
there's  no  such  word  as  'Next  train." 

He  led  the  way;  De  Peyster  had  played  left 
tackle  at  Columbia,  and  Calverly  had  been  on 
the  Rugby  team;  so,  with  Miss  Collis  between 
them,  they  reached  the  inside  of  the  car. 

"This  is  worse  than  our  Tuppenny  Tube," 
said  Calverly.  "Deucedly  good-natured  crowd, 
though.  I  must  have  bent  in  three  or  four  ribs, 
but  nobody  complained.  Heads  would  be  broken 
in  England." 

Someone  rose  and  offered  Miss  Collis  a  seat, 
which  she  took  with  a  smile  of  recognition.  It 
was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Granger7,  of  Terre  Haute. 
With  him  was  Peter  Simes,  the  sweet  songster  of 
South  Carolina. 

"It  is  easy  to  see  that  he's  no  New  Yorker," 
said  De  Peyster. 

"  How  can  you  tell  ?  He  wears  the  usual  num- 
ber of  limbs  and  clothes." 

"Yes,  but  he  got  up  to  give  a  woman  a 
seat." 

De  Peyster  and  Calverly  were  swinging  by 
straps — those  poor  substitutes  for  the  convenient 
tails  which  Evolution  lopped  off  long  before  she 
invented  modern  transit.  The  Elevated  train 
was  packed  as  only  New  York  cars  can  be 


(Betting  IRounJ)  43 

packed.  The  people  who  had  seats  were  pinned 
together  till  their  very  iliums  ached.  The  mix- 
ture was  such  a  triumph  of  democracy  as  made 
the  English  aristocrat  shudder,  while  Mr.  Simes 
looked  with  such  horror  at  the  presence  of  Ethi- 
opians in  any  but  a  Jim  Crow  car  that  almost  • 
involuntarily  his  hand  went  to  his  hip-pocket. 

Here  was  a  well-known  millionaire,  usually 
represented  in  the  cartoons  by  a  costume  checked 
with  dollar  marks.  He  had  not  had  the  time 
to  ride  uptown  in  his  automobile.  He  was  plas- 
tered against  an  Italian  laborer  who  so  loved 
his  native  soil  that  he  carried  his  share  of  it  with 
him.  Between  him  and  a  profusely  built  negro 
washerwoman  was  squashed  an  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful and  perfectly  gowned  young  woman,  who 
might  have  been  the  daughter  of  the  millionaire 
—or  his  stenographer.  Touching  on  and  apper- 
taining to  the  negress  was  an  elegantly  attired 
personage,  whose  black  face  and  shiny  eye  were 
the  only  refutation  of  his  aristocracy.  Smudged 
against  him  was  a  messenger  boy  trying  to  peer 
through  the  elbows  that  hemmed  him  in  and 
learn  what  happened  when  the  Demon  of  the 
Gulch  reached  for  his  old  trusty,  and,  finding 
that  it  was  gone,  faced  with  unblanching  cour- 
age the  band  of  painted  redskins,  so  many  of 
whom  he  had  taught  to  bite  the  dust.  Next  to 
him  was  a  stockbroker  equally  absorbed  in 
another  work  of  fiction,  an  evening  paper,  which 
had  already  sunk  each  of  the  Russian  ships  nine 


44  £be  iReal  IRew  l?orfc 

times  and  captured  Port  Arthur  on  eleven  dis- 
tinct occasions.  Next  to  the  broker  was  a  row 
of  immigrants  who  had  made  themselves  con- 
spicuous by  getting  on  early  with  half  a  dozen 
large  and  microby-looking  bundles. 

Every  seat  was  taken  at  least  once  and  a  half. 
Of  the  aisles  you  could  only  say  that  there  was 
still  room  at  the  top.  The  car  was  a  great  bas- 
ket of  eels,  and  men,  women  and  half-smoth- 
ered children  were  so  packed,  melted  and  poured 
round  each  other  that  it  would  have  been  out- 
rageously indecent  if  decency  were  anything  but 
a  matter  of  custom.  (How  would  you,  madam, 
like  to  find  yourself  suddenly  on  Fifth  Avenue 
in  that  bathing  suit  you  wore  between  prayer 
meetings  at  Ocean  Grove  last  summer?) 

It  was  a  wise  passenger  that  knew  his  own 
feet  in  that  mass  of  scrambled  legs.  If  a  man 
wished  to  unfold  his  newspaper,  he  brushed  the 
glasses  off  his  neighbor's  nose;  total  strangers 
were  rubbing  noses  like  engaged  Esquimaux,  and 
unintroduced  couples  were  simply  wrapped  up 
in  each  other. 

As  for  the  platforms,  they  were  worse  yet,  for 
there  the  passengers  were  pressed,  not  against 
the  human  form  divine,  but  against  the  iron 
railings.  Eventually  these  will  be  made  of  rub- 
ber ropes,  but  for  the  present  they  are  unyield- 
ing, and  with  every  new  passenger  that  pushes 
in  someone  gets  a  rib  twisted  or  a  thorax  con- 
caved. This  is  why  New  Yorkers  wear  that 


(Betting  IRounfc  45 

anxious  look,  which  is  sometimes  attributed  to 
business  rush.  The  Elevated  train  platform  is 
the  daily  disproof  of  a  silly  axiom  to  the  effect 
that  two  bodies  cannot  occupy  the  same  space 
at  the  same  time.  The  revised  axiom  is  this: 
There  is  always  room  on  the  train  platform  for 
as  many  more  people  as  there  are  waiting  on 
the  station  platform. 

The  so-called  "guard"  stands  a-straddle  the 
coupling  pins  between  cars,  and  before  long  he 
gets  his  elbows  so  pinioned  to  his  sides  that  he 
can  hardly  work  the  convenient  levers  of  the 
gates,  and  he  asks  someone  with  a  free  arm— 
if  such  there  be — to  pull  the  bell-rope  for  him. 
New  Yorkers  often  feel  sorry  for  the  trainmen 
and  wonder,  "  Who  shall  guard  the  guards  ?"'  As 
for  the  passengers — they  can  take  care  of  them- 
selves. And  they  deserve  all  they  get,  for  in  the 
mad  struggle  to  get  aboard  the  first  train,  and  in 
the  deep-seated  horror  of  having  to  wait  ten  sec- 
onds for  another  train,  everybody  hangs  on  by 
the  skin  of  his  teeth  or  the  tip  of  his  nails  and 
postpones  breathing  till  he  gets  home.  Then, 
when  some  woman  gets  scraped  off  a  train  and 
run  over  and  her  body  is  distributed  along  the 
track  or  drops  to  the  street  below,  everybody 
blames  the  railroad  and  the  so-called  guard  is 
arrested!  Everybody  swears  at  the  transit  sys- 
tem and  goes  on  fighting  his  way  into  the  next 
train. 

And  everybody,  young,  old,  lame,  halt  or  blinds 


46  £be  IReal  mew  ]l)orft 

reads  for  dear  life,  and  mostly  evening  papers 
which  proclaim  with  scare-heads  in  one  edition 
what  they  deny  with  small  type  in  the  next.  The 
universal  custom  of  reading  in  this  joggling 
light  is  what  makes  New  York  the  oculist's 
paradise  and  the  Mecca  of  the  journalists. 
Then,  too,  the  newspaper  is  very  useful  to  those 
men  who  have  a  lingering  sense  of  shame;  they 
can  hide  behind  it  when  they  see  a  woman 
standing  reproachfully  before  them — this  also 
is  why  newspapers  are  never  printed  on  sheets 
of  convenient  size  for  reading;  they  are  not 
meant  for  literature,  but  for  concealment. 

'You  must  see  some  very  startling  sights 
from  the  Elevated,"  said  Calverly,  "riding 
along  past  people's  bedroom  windows  like 
this." 

"No,"  said  De  Peyster,  sadly,  "the  'El'  is 
one  of  the  greatest  disappointments  of  New 
York.  I've  watched  the  windows  go  by  ever 
since  I  was  a  boy;  I've  always  hoped  to  be 
shocked,  and  I'm  always  nearly  shocked,  but 
I've  never  actually  had  the  pleasure  of  being 
really  shocked.  A  lot  of  women  hang  out  of 
the  windows — the  hanging  women  of  Babylon— 
and  you  always  hope  they'll  fall,  but  they  never 
do,  though  they  must  grow — well,  calloused  on 
their  elbows.  Now  and  then  you  see  some  wo- 
men putting  up  their  hair,  or  families  eating 
dinner  in  their  shirt  sleeves,  and  Sundays  most 
of  the  men  seem  to  spend  at  the  windows  in 


(Settino  IRouufc 


47 


A 
NEW 

YORK  Ell 


their  underclothes;  but  there's  nothing  very  en- 
tertaining about  that." 

"Must  be  terrible  living  by  the  'El,'"  said 
Miss  Collis. 

'  You'd  think  so,  but  there  are 
so  many  people  who  love  the  noise 
and  the  excitement  of  having 
something  always  doing  that  the 
rents  along  the  'El'  are  as  high  as 
anywhere  else.  Some  of  the  apart- 
ments that  look  right  into  the 
trains  rent  for  five  or  six  thousand 
dollars  a  year." 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  "they'll 
be  fitting  up  apartments  next  in 
the  basements,  where  people  can 
watch  the  Subway  trains  go  by." 

"Stranger  things  have  happened  in  New 
York." 

"But  they  really  ought  to  take  better  care  of 
the  traffic,"  said  Calverly.  "We'd  never  stand 
such  crowding  in  London." 

"  It's  hard  to  have  a  large  town  without  having 
a  lot  of  people,"  said  De  Peyster.  "London 
is  a  big  circle  of  villages;  the  traffic  can  go  in 
all  directions.  New  York  is  a  long,  slim  lead 
pencil,  and  almost  all  the  lines  have  to  run 
north  or  south.  Everybody  goes  downtown  in  the 
morning.  Everybody  goes  uptown  in  the  even- 
ing— except  Saturday,  when  there  is  this  early 
afternoon  rush  that  we  have  struck.  The 


48  Gbe  iRcal  IRew  H?orfc 

problem  will  never  be  solved  till  New  York  goes 
into  a  decline  and  moss  grows  on  the  asphalt." 

"I  dare  say  I  could  solve  it  some  way,"  said 
Calverly. 

"Pity  you  have  been  so  long  in  getting  here," 
smiled  De  Peyster,  indulgently.  "Several  very 
intelligent  men  have  been  lying  awake  nights  for 
several  years, "and  the  problem  grows  faster  than 
the  ideas." 

"I  have  been  reading  some  statistics,"  said  a 
voice.  De  Peyster  and  Calverly  turned.  It  was 
A.  J.  Joyce,  who  had  stood  by  unobserved.  He 
read  from  a  clipping  he  had  taken  from  his 
pocket. 

"  This  paper  says  that,  last  year,  the  combined 
street  railway  lines  of  New  York  carried  twice  as 
many  people  as  all  the  steam  railways  of  the 
United  States  together.  The  Elevated  carried, 
in  one  day  last  April,  917,060  passengers,  the 
surface  lines,  on  May  9th,  over  1,700,000.  The 
Interborough  carried  246,587,022  passengers  in 
1903,  an  increase  of  31,000,000  over  1902." 

The  Chicagoan  looked  up,  expecting  to  see 
the  two  men  swooning. 

:<  You  have  a  penchant  for  statistics,"  said  De 
Peyster,  coldly. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  I  have  exactly  a  ponchon, 
but  I  have  a  leaning  that  way.  They  call  me 
'St'istics'  at  home,"  said  Joyce. 


PI 


^*~^ 

AT  THE  CUSTOM  HOUSE 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  BEAU  MONDE THE   WALDORF;  A  REVOLVING  DOOR 

PEACOCK  ROW THE    PEOPLE  IN    THE    CORRIDORS THE 

BALL-ROOMS  AND  DINING-ROOMS OSCAR THE  UNI- 
VERSITY CLUB;  ITS  DINING-ROOM — THE  LYCEUM  THEA- 
TRE  A  NEW  YORK  AUDIENCE SUPPER  AT  THE  SAVOY— 

A  MIDNIGHT  SPIN  THROUGH  CENTRAL  PARK RIVERSIDE 

DRIVE  AND  MORNINGSIDE  PARK  UNDER  THE  STARS 

4  4  T  SAY,  'Pie'"— Calverly  loved  to  call  the 
A  proud  American  by  the  name  of  the 
humiliating  national  dish — "I  say,  Pie,  where 
are  you  taking  me,  anyway  ?  This  is  the  deuce 
of  a  distance,  isn't  it  rather?" 

''Thought  we'd  try  the  Waldorf-Astoria,"  said 
De  Peyster. 

uThe  Waldorf -hyphen- Astoria,  as  the  fellow 
said  in  the  song,  eh  ?"  said  Joyce,  playfully 
punching  De  Peyster  in  the  ribs. 

De  Peyster,  like  the  usual  native  of  New  York, 
abhorred  a  Chicagoan;  but  he  loathed  a  rib- 
poker.  So  he  gave  Joyce  a  jolt  with  his  own 
elbow  that  knocked  all  his  breath  out.  But 
Joyce  imagined  that  the  cataclysm  was  simply 
due  to  an  ordinary  rush  for  the  door,  so  he 
thought  nothing  of  it;  for  just  then  the  guard's 
voice  came  in  faintly: 

"Toity-thordStrit!" 

lt  Whatever  did  the  brute  say  ?"  asked  Calverly. 


i!?orfc 

"  Thirty-third  Street,"  said  De  Peyster.  "  We 
get  out  here." 

De  Peyster  was  wondering  how  to  take  care 
of  both  the  San  Franciscan  and  the  Londoner. 
But  Miss  Collis  said  she  had  never  seen  the 
Waldorf-Astoria,  and  toddled  along. 

Calverly  stared  up  at  the  enormous  double 
hotel,  which  resembles  nothing  so  much  as  a 
huge  iceberg  of  gingerbread — what  Lewis  Carroll 
would  have  called  a  "gingerberg"—  mouse- 
nibbled  here  and  there  at  the  top. 

"Big  enough  to  hold  the  whole  population," 
said  Calverly. 

"Probably  not  a  room  left,"  said  De  Peyster. 
They  went  under  the  iron  canopy,  which,  at 
night,  with  its  spatter  of  electric  lights,  is  a  little 
Milky  Way.  They  slid  into  a  rapidly  revolving 
door,  where  everyone  enters  between  the  spokes 
and  where  Calverly,  crowding  in  with  De  Peys- 
ter, walked  all  over  his  heels  and  got  himself 
bumped  from  abaft  with  annoying  familiarity. 

As  the  trio  gathered  themselves  together  on 
the  safe  side  of  the  propeller  screws,  a  human 
being  was  projected  into  their  midst  (as  the  New 
York  Sun  would  not  say),  and  they  heard  the 
siren  voice  of  the  Chicagoan. 

"  Whenever  I  go  into  one  of  those  machines," 
he  said,  "I  expect  to  come  out  a  sausage." 

"Naturally,"  observed  De  Peyster,  in  an 
extra  dry  tone,  as  he  led  his  flock  away. 

"I  wonder  if  he  meant  anything  by  that," 


Beau  fIDonbe  si 

said  the  Chicagoan  to  his    friend,  "Ananias," 
who  answered: 

:<What  a  New  Yorker  says  never  means  any- 
thing; or,  if  it  does,  forget  it.  Let's  have  a 
drink." 

He  steered  the  Chicagoan  into  the  big  cafe 
where  there  were  tall-hatted  men  enough  to  give 
the  scene  an  English  look.  Blake  consented  to 
repeated  experiments  in  the  irrigation  problem, 
but,  when  he  perceived  the  waiter  menacing  with 
the  check,  he  saw,  or  said  he  saw,  an  important 
interviewer  and  rushed  away,  returning  when 
he  observed  that  the  Chicagoan  had  paid  the 
bill. 

"Say,"  said  Joyce,  "when  he  gave  me  the 
bill  I  thought  it  was  a  mortgage  on  the  hotel. 
I  feel  as  if  I'd  had  one  of  my  wisdom  teeth 
pulled.  I  tell  you  there's  a  large,  vacant  chair 
in  my  pocketbook." 

But  Blake  insinuatingly  led  his  victim  to  the 
cigar-stand,  where  Joyce  slid  up  and  down  try- 
ing to  discover  something  at  about  six  for  a  quar- 
ter— just  to  show  that  he  was  not  yet  bankrupt. 
He  finally  bought  six  for  a  quarter — apiece.  He 
staggered  out,  saying  ta  Blake,  "  I'd  like  to  take 
a  long  breath  of  this  air.  D'you  suppose  I  can 
afford  it?  Will  a  policeman  hand  me  a  bill 
for  it?" 

'You've  got  your  pocketbook  left,  haven't 
you  ?  You  don't  know  when  you're  lucky,"  said 
Blake,  leading  him  away  to  other  conspiracies 


52 


IReal 


lj)orfc 


for  the  divorce  of  the  old  partnership  of  Mr. 
Fool  and  Miss  Money. 

Meanwhile,  De  Peyster  and  his  twain  had 
sauntered  down  the  lobby  of  Russian  and  Italian 
marbles,  with  its  decorations  by  C.  Y.  Turner. 
This  corridor,  called  "Peacock  Alley,"  was  mot- 


THE   WALDORF-ASTORIA    CAFE 

ley  with  people,  of  whom  you  could  only  say 
that  they  all  seemed  to  have  money  and  to  handle 
it  with  a  careful  carelessness.  Here  were  opu- 
lent Westerners  with  the  ore  still  clinging  to 
their  gold;  here  were  evident  outsiders  who  had 
drifted  in  with  a  wild  sense  of  extravagance,  and 
who  looked  as  if  they  were  expected  to  put  a 
gold  dollar  in  a  slot  at  every  step.  Pages  were 
flitting  about,  murmuring  the  numbers  of  rooms 
or  the  names  of  guests  who  had  been  called  for. 

"Is  this  New  York  society?"  asked  Calverly, 
monocling  the  crowd. 

"Not  much  of  it,"  objected  De  Peyster.    "It's 


Beau  flfconfce  53 

like  New  York's  bohemia.  A  lot  of  commer- 
cial men  take  their  cloak  models  to  a  cheap  res- 
taurant, drink  and  eat  cheap  things  from  un- 
clean linen  and  glass  and  look  at  one  another  in 
wonderment,  and  everybody  says  of  everybody 
else  in  mutual  admiration,  'Those  are  the  bo- 
hemians!'  So  it  is  in  this  place;  a  good  many 
of  the  people  are  Western  parvenus.  They  sit 
round  and  stare  at  one  another,  saying,  'Those 
are  the  Four  Hundred.'  As  Oliver  Herford  said, 
this  hotel  was  built  for  the  purpose  of  'purvey- 
ing exclusiveness  to  the  masses.'  Of  course, 
there  are  always  some  of  the  real  people  here; 
but  they  are  few  to  begin  with  and  they  don't 
usually  look  the  part.  New  York  society  people 
are  like  those  of  every  other  metropolis;  they're 
quiet,  simple,  usually  plain  and  stupid,  rather 
tired  of  their  money  and  rather  cautious  of  it 
from  force  of  habit  and  a  fear  of  looking  osten- 
tatious. 

'You'll  see  a  lot  of  notables  here,  however. 
The  Congressmen  from  Washington  have  made 
this  their  headquarters  for  their  little  jaunts,  and 
the  politicians  follow  the  statesmen.  The  'Amen 
Corner'  of  the  former  'Easy  Boss,'  Senator  Tom 
Platt,  is  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  but  it's  losing 
some  of  its  power.  The  W7aldorf  is  very  gay 
when  foreign  dignitaries  come  to  this  country, 
for  they  usually  stop  here.  Li  Hung  Chang's 
yellow  silk  dragon  flag  fluttered  from  the  hotel 
when  he  was  here  in  state,  and  he  had  a  body- 


54  £be  iReal  mew 

guard  from  the  town's  crack  cavalry,  Squadron 
A.  Prince  Henry  of  Germany  flung  out  his 
black  eagle  here,  too.  The  hotel  is,  perhaps, 
all  told,  the  greatest  in  the  world,  but  its  fame 
brings  the  mob,  and  almost  anybody  is  as  likely 
to  be  nobody  as  somebody." 

They  went  to  the  desk,  a  long  parabola  with 
a  large  corps  of  clerks,  who,  with  indefatigable 
cheerfulness,  answer  the  most  idiotic  questions 
and  pass  the  inquirer  down  the  line.  There  is 
a  separate  group  of  clerks  for  every  need,  and 
a  separate  desk  where  waiting  cards  are  shot 
through  snappy  pneumatic  tubes  to  all  the  six- 
teen floors,  whence  they  are  carried  by  the  pages 
of  each  floor  to  any  of  the  hotel's  one  thousand 
rooms.  The  hotel  accommodates  about  one 
thousand  four  hundred  people  and  employs 
about  one  thousand  four  hundred  servants  to 
keep  them  happy.  Besides  its  guest  rooms  it  has 
forty  public  rooms.  The  royal  suites  rent  for 
$500  a  day,  and  the  payment  of  $100  to  $150  a 
day  for  a  suite  is  not  uncommon. 

As  De  Peyster  feared,  there  was  not  a  room 
to  be  had.  He  started  to  leave,  but,  noting  that 
Miss  Collis,  while  trying  to  act  as  if  she  had 
known  the  place  from  infancy,  was  really  de- 
vouring the  scene,  suggested  they  should  look 
round  a  bit  before  leaving.  He  obtained  per- 
mission to  visit  the  grand  ball-room  from  a  clerk 
who  called  him  by  name  and  possessed  a  mirac- 
ulous, directory-like  memory  that  would  have 


Beau  fIDonbe  ss 

made  a  President  of  any  hand-shaking  poli- 
tician.. 

The  grand  ball-room  is  more  imposing  for  its 
size  and  splendor  than  for  any  artistic  influence. 
It  has  its  own  series  of  anterooms  and  stairways 
to  the  double  tier  of  boxes.  The  ceiling,  by 
Edwin  H.  Blashfield,  has  a  soft  radiance  of  its 
own;  but  the  score  of  ovals  by  Will  H.  Low  do 
not  reveal  him  at  his  best;  the  figures  repre- 
senting the  nations  are  all  of  them  academic  in 
pose  and  color,  save,  perhaps,  Ireland. 

"Here  they've  had  some  gorgeous  balls;  and 
this  room  and  the  grand  ball-room  at  Sherry's 
divide  the  glory  of  the  town.  It  was  at  Sherry's 
that  one  horsey  man  gave  a  dinner  not  long  ago 
to  his  hunt  club,  with  every  guest  seated  on  a 
horse,  while  he  ate.  Talk  about  your  crazy 
pastimes  of  Roman  emperors!  They  have  big 
banquets  in  these  ball-rooms,  too,  and  the  women 
sit  in  the  boxes.  They  have  to  endure  the  sight 
of  the  men  busily  eating  and  drinking,  and  then 
they  must  keep  awake  while  after-dinner  speak- 
ers administer  their  conversational  bromides. 
They  have  lectures  here,  too,  and  concerts  and 
amateur  theatricals,  such  as  the  Strollers'  annual 
show,  which  lasted  a  week  and  had  an  English 
duke  in  the  cast.  And  college  fraternities  have 
banquets  here  and  make  the  hotel  rock  with  the 
yells  of  rival  chapters." 

From  the  grand  ball-room  the  trio  went  to  the 
Colonial  dining-room  and  then  to  the  Myrtle 


56  £be  iReal  IRew  JPorfc 

Room  used  for  weddings  and  wedding-break- 
fasts, though  Delmonico  gets  most  of  these.  The 
Astor  gallery,  however,  is  the  jewel  of  the  hotel; 
it  is  used  for  small  dances,  lectures  and  the  like; 
it  is  a  snowy  replica  of  the  Soubise  ball-room  in 
Paris,  save  for  the  twelve  panels  of  Edward  Sim- 
mons, who  has  furnished  the  town  with  many  of 
its  best  mural  triumphs,  but  was  never  happier 
than  in  the  ecstatic  spirit  of  these  seasons  and 
months — rapturously  beautiful  women  who  live 
in  a  heaven  of  color.  These  and  Robert  Blum's 
beatific  masterpieces  on  the  walls  of  Mendels- 
sohn Hall  are  an  honor  to  the  country. 

The  three  visitors  leaned  on  the  marble  railing 
and  gazed  down  into  the  palm  room,  where  there 
was  a  pretty  al  fresco  effect.  Miss  Collis  sighed : 

"Those  people  seem  to  be  eating  some  aw- 
fully nice  things.  Yum-yum!" 

Calverly  said: 

"I  say,' Pie,  isn't  it  about  tea  time?" 

"If  the  customs  officers  had  seen  that  you 
brought  the  tea  habit  in  with  you,  they'd  have 
confiscated  it.  Do  you  really  want  tea?" 

"Rathurr!"  said  Calverly,  with  emphasis. 

"Come  along,  then.  First  we'll  take  a  peep 
in  the  large  dining-room.  It's  a  little  cold,  or 
we  could  take  tea  on  the  roof." 

As  they  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  long  and 
lofty  dining-room,  a  substantially  built  person  of 
evident  importance  nodded  to  De  Peyster  and 
called  him  by  name. 


Beau  fIDonbc  57 

"Who's  that  great  man?"  said  Miss  Collis. 

"That's  Oscar,  the  major-domo,"  said  De 
Peyster,  in  an  awestruck  voice.  "  And  to  be  rec- 
ognized by  him  is  considered  one  of  the  highest 
honors  a  New  Yorker  can  aspire  to." 

Then  they  sought  a  table  under  a  sheltering 
palm.  Calverly  ordered  tea  with  minute  and 
threatening  directions.  Miss  Collis  hesitated. 
De  Peyster  said: 

"I  am  going  to  have  a  Scotch  highball.  You 
can  have  one,  too,  in  a  tea-cup;  though  many 
of  the  women,  as  you  see,  are  drinking  theirs 
openly." 

"Shocking!"  said  Miss  Collis. 

"Aristocratic  women  smoke  in  the  hotel  cor- 
ridors at  English  watering-places,"  said  De 
Peyster. 

"Oh,  come,  now,  Pie!"  said  Calverly. 

"I've  seen  it,"  said  De  Peyster,  firmly;  "and 
so  have  you.  And  look  here,  Calverly,  if  you 
don't  quit  calling  me  Pie,  I'll  call  you  Calf. 
What  shall  we  do  to-night?  Shall  we  dine  to- 
gether somewhere  ?" 

Miss  Collis  shook  her  head  sweetly. 

"Then  we  must  all  go  to  the  theatre  some- 
where." 

"I  have  no  chaperon,"  she  said. 

"Nonsense!  you  don't  need  one,"  sniffed  De 
Peyster. 

"I  have  no  chaperon,"  she  repeated,  and  her 
quiet  pride  took  on  such  an  angelic  look  that 


58 


IReal  IRew  H)orfc 


De  Peyster,  after  staring  her  through  and 
through,  cast  off  certain  hopes  he  had  cherished 
of  a  swift  flirtation,  and  said: 

"I  know  a  woman  who  will  be  glad  to  go 


along." 
"Who 


is 


she?"  asked  she,  keeping  her  eyes 
fastened  on  him. 

His  look  fell  before    hers,   and 
he  changed  his  plans  once  more. 
When  he  looked  up  again  he  faced 
her  with  admiring  eyes  and  said : 
"My  mother." 

She  breathed  very  deeply, 
reached  over  and  pressed  his  hand. 
He  saw  that  her  long  eyelashes 
were  suddenly  wet. 

"I  am  all  alone,  you  know,"  she 
said. 

Calverly  was  too  deep  in  his  tea 
to   notice  anything;   he    broke   in 
again  with  his  native  charm: 

"  Where  am  I  going  to  stop,  I  wonder  ?" 
De  Peyster  was  staring  at  Miss  Collis  so  hard 
that  Calverly  had  to  repeat  his  question.     Then 
De  Peyster  came  back  to  earth  and  said: 

"I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  come  to  my  house." 
"Oh,  I  hate  visiting,  and  I'm  a  terrible  nui- 
sance round  a  house." 

"No  doubt,"  said  De  Peyster;  "then I  can  put 
you  up  at  one  of  the  clubs  for  two  weeks  and  at 
another  for  the  next  fortnight,  and  so  on." 


A    NEW    YORKER 


Beau  flfeonbe  59 

This  was  acceptable,  and  they  agreed  that 
they  would  all  go  to  the  theatre  together.  De 
Peyster  called  a  cab,  and  they  went  first  to  Miss 
Collis's  hotel.  De  Peyster  helped  her  out,  and 
as  they  stood  at  the  door  she  said : 

"We'd  better  call  the  theatre  idea  off.  I'm 
only  in  the  way." 

"In  the  way  of  being  the  most  charming— 
De  Peyster  began. 

"None  of  that,"  she  smiled.  "But  you  see 
there'll  be  a  terrible  contretemps.  You  told  Mr. 
Calverly  I  was  your  cousin.  He'll  surely  blurt 
it  out  to  your  mother." 

"He's  sure  to,"  said  De  Peyster,  puzzled. 
Then  he  brightened.  "I  have  a  sister  who's  a 
true  sport.  I'll  tell  her  the  whole  story,  and 
she'll  like  you  immensely,  and  she'll  talk  Cal- 
verly to  death,  while  I  listen  to  you." 

So  they  shook  hands  and  parted  for  the  nonce. 

The  two  men  drove  up  to  the  University  Club. 
The  granite  castle,  with  its  decoration  of  the 
carved  shields  of  all  the  larger  colleges,  impressed 
the  Englishman  greatly.  The  central  hall,  with 
its  superb  columns,  and  the  pomp  of  the  vast 
reading-room  overwhelmed  him.  The  swift  up- 
ward shoot  of  the  elevator  almost  floored  him, 
and  the  rich  furnishings  of  his  own  room  took 
his  breath  away. 

"I  shall  be  no  end  comfy  here,"  he  said. 

While  he  dressed  for  dinner,  De  Peyster  was 
away  for  home  and  his  own  toilet.  The  pros- 


60  Cbe  IReal  IRcw  JDorfc 

pect  of  going  to  the  theatre  with  the  Englishman 
silenced  any  protests  the  younger  Miss  De  Peyster 
might  have  made  against  the  mysterious  Miss 
Collis,  and  her  brother  hurried  back  to  dine 
with  Calverly. 

As  they  entered  the  lofty-ceiled  dining-room 
of  the  club,  with  its  almost  musical  harmony  of 
sumptuous  woodwork  and  soft  tapestries,  Cal- 
verly stared  like  a  yokel. 

"By  Jove,  there's  not  a  palace  in  Europe  with 
as  fine  a  dining-room  as  this.  It's  simply  su- 
pebb,  you  know;  simply  supebb." 

After  a  dinner  that  even  an  English  bulldog 
could  not  growl  over,  they  found  the  De  Peyster 
automobile  awaiting  them.  They  picked  up  Miss 
De  Peyster  and  then  scudded  to  the  hotel  for 
Miss  Collis.  When  she  appeared  Miss  De  Peys- 
ter reached  out  of  the  dark  of  the  carriage  and 
called  her  "My  dear  cousin"  in  a  way  that 
ended  formality. 

And  so  to  the  New  Lyceum  Theatre.  Here 
Miss  Collis  broke  into  open  raptures  as  she 
looked  up  and  saw  along  the  cornice  a  row  of 
great  braziers,  from  which  floated  clouds  of 
steam,  lighted  up  by  unseen  incandescent  globes 
till  the  vapor  seemed  like  sacrificial  flames  burn- 
ing frankincense  to  the  muses  of  the  drama. 

Calverly  complained  that  the  audience  looked 
only  half-dressed  with  none  of  the  women  in 
decollete,  until  Miss  De  Peyster  reminded  him 
that  England  is  the  only  European  country  where 


Beau 


61 


women  shiver  in  bare  skin  and  sealskin  at  the 
theatre. 

The  play  was  Barrie's  subtle  weft  of  fanciful 
comedy  and  realistic  tragedy,  "The  Admirable 
Crichton,"  with  William  Gillette  as  the  butler 
who  was  a  king  in  a  midocean  island  and  a 
hopeless  menial  in  democratic  England.  Calverly 
had  seen  the  play  in  London 
with  a  native  cast.  He  could 
not  help  saying: 

"Crichton   on   the    island  re- 
minds me  of — what's  his  name 
—King     Oscar     of     the     Wal- 
dorf." 

After  the  theatre  they  drove 
to  the  Savoy  and  took  supper 
under  the  low  but  gorgeous  ceil- 
ing of  its  dining-room.  The 
problem  of  what  to  eat  pro- 
voked Calverly  to  grumble: 

"  Why  don't  they  serve  a  table 
d'hote    supper,    as    they  do  in  London  at  the 
Carlton  ?" 

"Because  we  come  nearer  being  civilized 
here,"  said  Miss  De  Peyster.  "I'll  never  for- 
get the  first  time  I  saw  an  English  mob  of 
after- theatre  gourmands  tackle  a  regular  supper 
served  in  courses!  I  can  still  see  that  scrawny 
old  decollete  dowager  taking  hot  soup — at  that 
hour!" 

"Another  thing,"  said  De  Peyster;  "we're  not 


MATCHES   MARY 


62  £be  IRcal  mew 

treated  like  children  here.  They  don't  scold 
us  and  send  us  to  bed  at  half -past  twelve,  as  they 
do  in  England.  Think  of  the  way  they  begin 
turning  the  lights  out  on  you  in  London  before 
you've  half -started  to  eat!" 

Galverly  decided  to  get  off  the  dangerous  sub- 
ject of  international  argument.  He  said: 

"What  kind  of  a  bird  is  terrapin,  and  who  is 
this  man  Maryland  it's  named  after?" 

After  they  had  over-eaten  sufficiently,  as  they 
stepped  out  of  the  Savoy  the  night  was  so  starry 
and  so  mild  and  the  Plaza  lay  so  fair  before  their 
eyes,  with  its  three  giant  hotels,  that  sleep  seemed 
a  waste  of  life.  To  their  right  stretched  the 
black  forest  of  Central  Park.  De  Peyster 
proposed  a  midnight  excursion,  and  all 
agreed. 

The  automobile  dashed  past  the  splendid  and 
moving  statue  of  General  Sherman,  a  special  life 
seeming  to  imbue  the  golden  forward  urge  of 
rider  and  horse,  and  of  the  Victory,  their  scout. 
Through  the  velvet  gloom  of  the  tree-bordered 
drives  they  swept,  every  curve  opening  some  new 
vista  of  dream. 

"It's  a  little  late  to  see  the  grand  army  of 
spooners,"  said  De  Peyster.  "  At  an  earlier  hour 
every  bench  has  its  loving  couple,  hugging  and 
whispering  for  dear  life.  It's  a  great  place  for 
love-making.  This  Park  is  a  masterpiece  of 
landscape  gardening,  too.  It  was  the  lifework 
of  Frederick  Law  Olmstead,  and  Tammany  paid 


Beau  flDonbe  63 

for  it.  That's  why  New  York  forgives  Tam- 
many so  much.  Central  Park  is  as  different 
from  Hyde  Park  or  Regent's  Park  or  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  as  day  from  night.  They  are  flat 
and  barren  compared  with  the  ups  and  downs 
and  the  countless  graceful  shapes  of  this  place. 
Fortunately,  it's  too  dark  for  you  to  see  the 
statues.  Some  of  them  are  the  worst  on 
earth." 

"What  would  you  Americans  do  without 
superlatives  ?"  said  Calverly,  wearily. 

"We'd  have  nothing  to  live  for,"  said  De 
Peyster.  "We  are  always  after  the  biggest 
things  going,  and  when  we  haven't  them,  we 
claim  them  anyway." 

The  automobile  swept  out  of  the  Park  at  Sev- 
enty-second Street  and  crossed  to  Riverside 
Drive.  Here  the  mighty  Hudson  burst  upon 
their  view,  and  the  long  avenue,  now  almost 
deserted,  was  filled  with  silence  and  epic  poetry. 
The  houses  along  one  side  were  all  of  ambitious 
architecture,  and,  in  the  dark,  they  made  a  rich 
white  wall  three  miles  long.  The  other  side  was 
all  trees  and  terraces  down  to  the  river  banks. 
Across  the  wide  floor  of  the  Hudson,  glistening 
with  eddies  and  streaked  currents,  the  Palisades 
reared  their  dim  heights  and  led  the  eye  into  a 
distance  of  majestic  beauty. 

The  marble  tower  of  the  Soldiers  and  Sailors' 
Monument  rose  in  ghostly  white,  and  seemed 
a  smaller  prelude  to  Grant's  Monument.  This 


64 


IRcal  IRcw  Jl?orfc 


big  tomb  lost  much  of  its  rigidity  in  the  en- 
velopment of  night,  and  its  succession  of 
square  Doric  base,  circle  of  Ionic  columns 
and  pyramidal  dome  lifted  the  soul  to  an  exal- 
tation. 

"Just  opposite  this  tomb,"  said  Miss  De  Peys- 
ter,  tenderly,  "is  the  little  grave 
of  an  *  amiable  child,'  a  poor  little 
boy  five  years  old,  who  died  in 
1797.  The  grave  has  not  been 
disturbed,  and  it  seems  less  lonely 
now  lying  so  close  to  General 
Grant  and  his  wife." 

After  a  long  and  silent  in- 
breathing of  the  loftiness  of  the 
scene,  Miss  Collis  murmured: 

"  It  is  more  beautiful  even  than 
the  Golden  Gate." 

This  is  a  San  Fran- 
ciscan's last  tribute. 

Now  De  Peyster 
ordered  the  chauffeur 
to  turn  into  Morning- 
side  Heights.  From 

the  parapet  they  looked  no  longer  on  the  calm 
of  the  Hudson,  but  on  the  checkerboard  of 
city  squares  outlined  in  chains  of  light.  Even 
the  serpentine  trestle  of  the  Elevated  road 
had  a  grace  in  this  half-day,  and  the  massive 
arch  of  the  unfinished  Cathedral  of  St.  John  the 
Divine  rose  in  a  solemn,  gray  rainbow  of  stone. 


THE    KANGAROO    WALK 


UNDER  FIRE 


Gfoc  Beau  flbonbc  65 

There  was  an  awesome  uplift  in  thus  contem- 
plating the  sleeping  city  from  its  acropolis  under 
a  black  crystal  globe  of  sky;  it  moved  even 
Calverly  to  say: 

"Til  have  to  borrow  some  of  your  superla- 
tives. I've  knocked  about  the  globe  a  bit,  but 
I've  never  seen  in  all  the  world  so — so — well,  so 
godlike  a  promenade  for  mortals  as  this  ride 
through  ('(Mitral  Park  and  Riverside  Drive  and 
Morningside  I  leights.  The  drive  about  the  hills 
of  Florence  overlooking  the  Arno  is  very  fine, 
but  it  is  tanic  beside  this." 

There  was  no  protest  from  the  others;  and  the 
automobile  went  spinning  down  the  steep  incline 
of  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street,  whence  it 
dived  again  into  the  deep  luxuries  of  Central 
Park,  and  sped  through  its  miles  of  woodland 
into  that  long  aisle  of  palaces  and  temples,  Fifth 
Avenue,  where  the  Cathedral  held  up  the  high 
beauty  of  its  twin  frosty  spires  to  the  clear,  dark 
sky,  bejewcled  with  constellations  and  royal 
planet-gems. 

As  he  bade  Miss  Collis  good-night  De  Peyster 
clung  to  her  hand  perhaps  longer  than  was 
strictly  necessary,  and  said: 

"  May  I .  ask  what  you — plan  for  to- 
morrow ?" 

"It's  Sunday;  I  suppose  I  might  go  to  church. 
Are  there  any  churches  in  New  York  ?" 

"  We  have  a  few,  concealed  in  odd  points  of  the 
town.  May  I  call  for  you  to-morrow?" 


66  £be  iReal  IHew  |)orfc 

"All  right,"  she  said,  cheerily,  and  he  laughed 
"  Good-night — cousin." 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE   GAMBLERS — THE   "  LID  " CHICAGO'S   STREETS  AND 

NEW  YORK'S WHEN  THE  TOWN  WAS  "  WIDE  OPEN" 

LIFE     UNDER     THE     LID — THE    BARROOMS A     FREE 

"LUNCH" — THE  PRIZE-FIGHTERS  AS  HOSTS — THE  LATE 

STEVE  BRODIE GAMBLING RUNNING    THE    GANTLET 

— MAGNITUDE     OF      THE      SPORT EXCHANGES     AND 

BUCKET-SHOPS — WOMEN     AS     GAMBLERS CANFIELD's 

PALACE PLAYING  THE  RACES A  TYPICAL   POOLROOM 

A   RAID A  RIDE  IN  THE  PATROL  WAGON AT  THE 

SIGN   OF   THE   GREEN   LAMP-POSTS 


ANEW  word  has  passed  into  the  lexicon  of 
New  Yorkers.  It  is  years  since  "the 
Tenderloin"  was  slang,  and  the  police  captain 
who,  on  being  assigned  to  that  vivacious  district 
about  Twenty-eighth  Street,  thought  of  it  as 
juicy  with  graft  and  spoke  of  it  as  "the  Tender- 
loin of  the  city,"  little  knew  that  he  was  creat- 
ing a  classic  symbol. 

The  newest  mintage  comes  from  a  preacher, 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Parkhurst,  to  whom  New  York  has 
been  indebted  for  so  much  relief  from  ennui. 
Speaking  with  despair  of  the  city's  intermittent 
fevers  of  political  reformation  and  deformation, 
he  said  that  when,  on  January  1st,  1904,  Mayor 
Low  should  lead  the  Citizens'  Union  out  and 
Mayor  McClellan  lead  the  Tammany  Tiger  in, 
"New  York  would  be  hell  with  the  lid  off."  At 


68  Gbe  IReal  mew  JPorh 

these  words  the  truly  virtuous  sat  back  and  held 
tight,  while  the  industriously  vicious  plucked  up 
new  hope.  But  both  were  disappointed,  and 
month  followed  month  with  no  visible  lifting 
of  the  cover.  New  York  saw  no  hell-broth  at 
all,  but  only  the  lid — everywhere  the  lid.  So 
"the  lid"  it  is  and  will  remain. 

Now,  the  Chicagoan  had  heard  of  this  lid,  and 
he  poked  fun  at  Blake  for  living  in  a  town  with 
such  kindergarten  virtues. 

"Better  put  blue  goggles  on  your  old  Statue 
of  Liberty,"  said  Joyce,  contemptuously,  "and 
turn  her  torch  into  a  candle;  she  is  going  up  to 
bed  at  nine  o'clock  with  her  hair  in  curl-papers. 
Now,  Chicago  is  no  nursery;  it  may  be  wicked, 
but  we  all  recite  *  Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring  To- 
night!' and  citizens  who  stay  out  after  dark 
don't  get  spanked." 

"No,"  said  Blake;  "they  get  sandbagged.  If 
I  were  from  Chicago,  I  wouldn't  insist  on  drag- 
ging the  condition  of  her  streets  after  dark  into 
the  conversation,  any  more  than  I'd  speak  of 
smoke  if  I  came  from  Pittsburg,  or  mosquitos 
if  I  had  escaped  from  Paterson,  N.  J.  But  when 
you  talk  of  New  York  as  being  childishly  virtu- 
ous, you  are  indulging  in  flattery. 

"Did  you  ever  see  an  old,  dead  log  lying  all 
quiet  in  the  grass  without  a  sign  of  life,  and  then 
did  you  ever  lift  it  up  and  see  the  squirming 
vermin  and  the  riotous  times  that  had  been  go- 
ing on  all  the  while?  There  may  be  a  lid  on 


(Samblera 


69 


New  York;  but  under  the  lid — well,  there's  some- 
thing doing.  The  lid's  a  good  idea,  too;  there's 
no  reason  why  we  should  have  vice  parading 
with  a  brass  band  and  red  lights.  We  don't 
want  the  thugs  to  make  the  streets  dangerous, 
as  they  do  in  Chicago,  and  we  don't  want  the 
women  to  turn  Broadway  into  a  toll-road,  as  the 
London  women  have  done  with  Piccadilly. 
We've  been  through  all  that. 

"A  few  years  ago  I  saw  things  in  this  town 
that  would  turn  the  stomach 
of  a  later  Roman  emperor: 
dives  opening  right  on  the 
street,  with  little  wicker  doors 
that  children  could  look  under 
and  see  the  dancing  and  sing- 
ing and  rowdy  talk  and  be- 
havior of  old  harridans  and 
young  girls  recruited  to  the 
trade  by  the  'cadets.'  That's 
what  the  town  runs  to  when 
the  lid  is  off,  or,  as  we  used 
to  say,  when  she  is  '  wide  open.' 

"You'll  find  thousands  of  well-behaved  men 
who  say  that  the  lid  ought  to  stay  off,  because 
the  smell  of  the  stew  brings  people  from  all  over 
the  country — people  who  spend  money  right  and 
left,  people  like  you,  who  flock  here  just  to  see 
something  worse  than  the  tame,  old,  everyday 
vices  of  your  home  industries.  New  York  is  like 
Paris  and  Old  Dog  Tray  in  suffering  from  the 


ANANIAS"  BLAKE 


70  Gbe  IReal  1Rew  JOorfc 

quality  of  its  friends.  In  the  lowest  resorts  of 
Paris  nearly  all  the  visitors  speak  English  or 
American ;  then  they  go  away  and  roast  the  city 
for  the  evil  that  is  concocted  almost  wholly  for 
foreign  consumption. 

"But  there  is  no  danger  of  this  town  simmer- 
ing down  to  'yarb  tea/  lid  or  no  lid;  although 
it  is  just  as  well  not  to  let  the  odor  and  the  gleam 
out  into  the  open  air  to  excite  the  curiosity  of 
children  and  well-meaning  grown-ups.  Under 
the  lid  there's  still  a  hot  time  in  the  old  town 
every  night,  and  the  visitor  can  find  almost  any- 
thing to  suit  his  idiosyncrasy,  provided  he  can 
get  an  introduction  of  some  kind.  And  the  in- 
troduction is  easily  managed,  if  you  can  only 
show  that  you  are  not  a  policeman  or  a  detective. 
So  long  as  your  intentions  are  truly  dishonest 
the  entree  is  easily  found  to  almost  any  part  of 
the  world,  from  demi  down  to  four  below  zero." 

The  two  men  were  drifting  about  town.  It 
was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  Blake  had  a  little 
leisure.  He  was  one  of  those  who  believe  that 
a  "barroom  education"  is  a  necessary  post- 
graduate course  to  any  schooling.  The  Chi- 
cagoan  confessed  a  fondness  for  the  same  alma 
mater.  The  first  place  Joyce  asked  to  be  led 
up  to  was,  of  course,  the  Hoffman  House  bar, 
long  famous  throughout  the  country  for  its  high 
prices  and  the  high  flavor  of  the  paintings  on  its 
walls.  Nudes  like  these  would  mean  nothing  at 
the  Metropolitan  Art  Gallery,  but  here  they  are 


(Bamblers  71 

sinister.  A  few  years  back  it  was  a  rare  comic 
paper  that  omitted  some  variant  on  the  story 
of  the  farmer  who  was  told  that  the  cause  of  the 
costliness  of  the  Hoffman  House  liquids  was  the 
costliness  of  the  oil  paintings  on  the  side.  He 
came  in  the  next  time  wearing  a  horse's  blinders. 

All  the  large  hotels  have  their  bars,  some  of 
them  a  mere  chaos  of  frippery,  others  works  of 
decorative  art  showing  unity  of  design  and  often 
a  historic  or  artistic  value.  The  Hotel  Im- 
perial has  a  finely  painted  old  Knickerbocker 
bowling  scene.  At  some  of  these  places  a  free 
lunch  is  served  of  surprising  quality.  Judging 
by  the  prices  for  the  same  things  in  the  restau- 
rant of  the  same  hotel,  the  profit  is  hard  to 
understand.  You  pay  ten  cents  for  a  glass  of 
beer  and  you  tip  the  waiter  ten  cents.  For  his 
ten  cents  the  waiter  brings  you  a  napkin,  a  fifty- 
cent  slice  of  roast  beef,  twenty-five  cents'  worth 
of  potatoes,  ten  cents'  worth  of  beets,  five  cents' 
worth  of  bread  and  ten  cents'  worth  of  cheese. 
The  proprietor  and  the  waiter  get  the  same  re- 
turn, but  out  of  his  ten  cents  the  proprietor  pays 
the  waiter's  wages,  the  cost  of  the  beer,  the  food, 
the  breakages,  the  rent,  the  furniture,  the  linen, 
the  laundry  and  the  insurance. 

After  zigzagging  more  or  less  faithfully  down 
the  line,  the  Chicagoan  felt  impelled  to  call  on 
the  eminent  barkeepers  who  are  reformed  prize- 
fighters. John  L.  Sullivan  once  swung  his 
shingle  on  Sixth  Avenue,  and  it  seemed  to  square 


72  ftbe  iReal  IRew  Jflorfc 

off  at  that  of  Corbett  a  few  blocks  lower.  But 
both  bars  are  closed  now,  though  "Kid  "  McCoy 
and  Thomas  Sharkey  and  Ernest  Roeber,  the 
wrestler,  still  receive  guests  at  certain  glittering 
palaces. 

Steve  Brodie,  too,  is  gone,  though  his  famous 
place  on  the  Bowery  still  flourishes.  The  New 
York  Sun  claimed  Mr.  Brodie  did  not  make 
the  famous  dive  from  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  as 
he  claimed;  but  it  seems  that  a  man  would  be 
likely  to  remember  whether  or  not  he  actually 
took  such  a  step.  In  any  case,  a  number  of 
others  have  made  the  distance  with  more  or  less 
fatal  results,  and  Brodie  found  thousands  to 
believe  his  claim.  From  being  a  bootblack  he 
marched,  via  the  dime  museum,  to  glory  as  a 
saloon-keeper,  a  lender  of  umbrellas  to  poor 
women  on  rainy  days,  an  owner  of  real  estate  in 
New  York,  and  finally  a  star  in  a  play  where, 
on  every  night  of  the  week  and  twice  on  Satur- 
days, he  dived  off  Brooklyn  Bridge  into  the  mat- 
tress— I  mean  the  dark  waters  far  below  and 
rescued  the  kidnapped  heiress  who  had  been 
thrown  over  by  the  villain  in  evening  dress. 
Brodie's  saloon  is  covered,  ceiling  as  well  as 
walls,  with  old  prints  of  old  kings  of  the  ring— 
a  genuinely  fine  gallery  of  heroes. 

But  Joyce  grew  tired  of  inspecting  the  bar- 
rooms. His  soul,  no  longer  parched,  now  panted 
for  excitement. 

"Is  there  any  place,"  he  asked,  "where  a  true 


(Samblera  73 

sport  can  put  a  little  bet  on  a  horse  or  take  his 
chances  with  a  wheel  ?  Does  this  town  support 
any  games  of  chance  except  trying  to  cross  the 
street-car  tracks  ?  Or  have  the  police  got  the 
whole  fraternity  scared?" 

Blake  grinned  pityingly,  and  answered: 
"Why,  it's  the  police  that  make  gambling 
worth  while  in  New  York.  Who  enjoys  the  cir- 
cus most — the  boy  who  asks  his  father  for  a 
quarter,  gets  it  and  walks  in  at  the  main  en- 
trance, or  the  boy  who  crawls  under  the  tent 
and  runs  the  risk  of  being  hit  by  a  peg-driver's 
mallet  on  the  outside  or  of  finding  himself  under 
the  elephant's  feet  on  the  inside  ? 

"Out  in  Chicago,  at  Monte  Carlo  and  other 
places,  you  walk  into  the  spider's  parlor  like  a 
nice  little  fly.  In  New  York  the  actual  betting 
is  the  least  part  of  the  fun.  Getting  inside  is 
the  whole  game.  It's  like  storming  an  old-time 
castle.  There's  a  moat  and  a  portcullis  and  a 
postern  gate  and  iron  bars  and  bolts  on  every 
gambling  place  in  New  York.  Then  the  police 
may  pay  an  informal  call  at  any  minute,  and 
they  use  everything  but  a  Gatling  gun  to  get  in- 
side. We  Americans  laughed  at  the  Paris  police 
some  years  ago  when  a  few  Jew-baiting  editors 
fortified  their  printing  shop  and  defied  the 
authorities  for  a  few  days.  But  New  York  has 
places  that  are  prepared  with  heavy  iron  doors, 
guarded  windows  and  sentinels,  and  have  held 
out  for  months.  The  police,  knowing  that 


74 


IReal  IHew 


gambling  was  being  done,  have  been  unable  to 
collect  that  positive  evidence  which  a  court  of 
justice  requires. 

"  Sometimes  the  police  try  to  scare  away  the 
customers.  They  back  a 
patrol  wagon  up  in  front  of  the 
place  and  ring  the  gong;  or 
they  station  uniformed  men 
there  to  warn  visitors  off.  But 
it  doesn't  work. 

"The  police  exhaust  every 
means  to  get  into  these  places, 
so  as  to  catch  the  gamblers 
actually  at  play.  They  have 
detectives  go  out  of  town,  come 
back,  live  at  a  fashionable 
hotel,  spend  money  freely  till 
they  attract  the  attention  of 
some  'runner'  for  a  gambling  house  and  are 
approached  as  victims.  Once  inside  the  detect- 
ive gambles  and  loses  till  he  learns  where  the 
layout  would  be  hidden  in  time  of  raid  and 
everything  else  that  is  necessary.  Then  he  re- 
turns another  time  with  other  detectives,  whom 
he  introduces  as  his  friends,  and  they  yell  *  Hands 
up!'  at  the  proper  moment.  One  of  the  detect- 
ives recently  lost  $400  at  gambling  before  he 
got  enough  evidence.  Another  managed  to  get 
hold  of  a  pass-key. 

"Sentinels    and    patrols    guard    all    the    ap- 
proaches to  these  buildings.     Others  stay  near 


THE    PRETZEL    PEDLER 


ZTbc  Gamblers  75 

police  headquarters,  and  a  general  alarm  goes 
out  every  time  the  patrol  wagon  stirs. 

"Sometimes  the  proprietor  is  desperate  and 
meets  force  with  force.  One  man,  Tom  O'Brien, 
on  West  Thirty-sixth  Street,  drew  a  chalk  mark 
on  his  stoop  and  dared  the  plain-clothes  men  to 
cross  the  dead  line.  He  threatened  to  have  the 
police  arrested  as  burglars. 

'Is  there  any  gambling  in  New  York?'  you 
ask.  Why,  there's  almost  nothing  else.  Every 
incoming  steamer  has  its  smoking-room  filled 
with  men  who  have  seen  scarcely  a  wave  since 
they  left  the  other  side  and  neither  know  nor 
care  how  near  they  are  to  this  side,  except  as 
they  make  up  their  pools  on  the  day's  run. 
Every  train,  speeding  along  some  spoke  toward 
the  hub  of  New  York,  has  its  little  game.  The 
commuters  cutting  across  the  Jersey  meadows 
play  cards  in  the  smoking-car,  and  little  social 
clubs  shuffle  and  deal  through  the  tunnel  to  the 
Grand  Central  Station  on  their  way  to  business. 
One  train  from  Philadelphia  carries  a  special 
club  car. 

"At  lunch  time  all  over  town  the  office  clerks 
skimp  their  midday  meal  to  steal  into  a  pool- 
room to  bet  on  a  horse  race  taking  place  in  New 
Orleans,  or  they  hang  over  a  stock  ticker  and 
wonder  why  the  margin  is  always  on  the  other 
side  of  the  sheet. 

"In  the  afternoon  it  is  billiards  or  pool,  for 
money  or  drinks.  After  dinner,  to  the  club, 


76  Gbe  IRcal  IRcw 

where  a  man  loses  his  identity  under  a  green 
eyeshade;  where  conversation  becomes  a  lost  art; 
daybreak  is  the  finish;  the  ceiling  the  limit;  and 
the  man  who  says  more  than  'I  have  openers,' 
or  'A  little  sweetening  for  the  Kitty/  or  'That's 
good !'  is  voted  a  gabbler.  What  money  the  wife 
has  won  playing  bridge  all  day  the  husband  loses 
playing  poker  all  night. 

"The  great  Stock  Exchange  is  only  a  big  gam- 
bling hell,  somewhat  more  sumptuously  quar- 
tered than  the  smaller  hells.  Then  there  is  the 
limbo  of  'the  Curb,'  where  the  speculator's  office 
is  the  space  between  his  umbrella  and  his  rub- 
bers. They  tell  of  a  pickpocket  who  collected 
nine  watches  on  his  way  downtown,  passed 
along  the  Curb  and  found  he  was  shy  six  chro- 
nometers. All  New  York  is  sprinkled  with 
branch  offices  of  the  recognized  brokers  and  the 
bucket-shops  of  the  unelect.  There  is  usually 
a  special  department  for  the  'business  women.' 
They  have  no  semblance  to  the  willows  that 
bend  and  murmur  over  the  streams  where  Huy- 
ler's  ice-cream  soda  flows.  These  women  do 
not  talk  of  clothes,  nor  of  their  neighbors.  Their 
speech  is  of  this  sort: 

"Hello,  Kate!     I  heard  you  got  squeezed  in 
cotton.' 

"No;  the  trouble  with  me  was,  I  was  long 
on  Consolidated  .Gas.' ' 

There  are  numberless  other  forms  of  gam- 
bling and  numerous  other  exchanges,  hand- 


(Samblers 


77 


somely    housed, 
such  as  the  Prod- 
uce,  the   Mercan- 
tile,    the     Coffee, 
Cotton,  Maritime, 
Metals, 
Coal 
and 
Iron, 
Real 
Estate, 
Build- 
ing Ma- 
t  e  r  i  a  1 
and 
Horse 
Exchanges.   In 
all   of    them 
some    actual 
business  is  done; 
it  is  the  cake  of 
soap  from  which 
the    speculators' 
bubbles      are 
blown.   The  chief 
v  o  lume 
of  trade 
is    the 
g  a  m- 
bling  in 
f  u  t  ures 


A    GAMBLER    IN    FUTURES 


with  margins 
for  chips.    This 
big    game    is 
very  easily  un- 
derstood    and 
played; 
a    man 
simply 
sells 
what  he 
hasn't 
got  to  a 
man 
who 
doe  sn't 
want  it, 
and  when  the 
time  comes  he 
pays    or    col- 
lects the  mar- 
gin of   differ- 
ence  between 
the   price 
which  it  never 
was    and    the 
price  which  it 
is   not 
-  now. 
T  h  e 
o  nly 
real 


78  Cbe  IRcal  mew 

thing  about  it  is  the  money  that  is  lost;  and,  as 
a  new  lamb  is  born  every  minute,  there  is  always 
plenty  of  mint  sauce. 

But  these  methods  are,  by  common  consent, 
called  business.  The  word  gambling  is  reserved 
for  more  definite  and  material  games,  in  which 
at  least  the  trick  wheel,  the  brace  box,  the  loaded 
dice  and  the  marked  cards  are  real,  while  the 
technic  of  the  artists  is  beyond  dispute.  These 
games  range  from  traps  to  Canfield's.  If  you 
come  properly  introduced  you  can  play  in  the 
dingy,  smelly  room  of  a  rear  tenement,  where 
the  Ethiopian  runs  his  policy  shop  and  the  col- 
ored sportsmen  "ply  the  gigs,"  losing  their 
money,  but  never  their  faith  in  dreams,  in 
rabbits'  rear  feet  or  in  chance  combinations 
of  numbers.  Or  you  can,  if  properly  intro- 
duced, revel  in  roulette  or  anything  else  while 
you  loll  in  the  sumptuous  fauteuils  of  Mr.  Phil 
Daly. 

The  dean  of  the  gambling  faculty  is  Richard 
Canfield,  Esquire,  who  receives  select  guests  in 
a  fortified  castle  on  East  Forty-fourth  Street. 
You  can  tell  it  by  the  beautiful  marble  pillars. 
You  may  be  able  to  get  a  card  of  introduction 
from  some  gentleman  at  your  club,  and  if  you 
once  pass  the  strong  door  you  will  find  a  home 
where  ingenious  sleight  of  hand  is  not  the  only 
art  well  cultivated,  for  the  furnishings  are  im- 
peccable and  the  pictures  and  objects  of  vertu 
show  masterlv  connaissance. 


(Samplers  79 

Mr.  Canfield  was  a  friend,  an  understander 
and  a  patron  of  the  late  Mr.  Whistler.  Among 
the  gems  he  has  collected  of  that  master's  art 
is  a  portrait  of  a  gambler-king — himself.  It  was 
often  publicly  exhibited  and  admired  as  the  "  Por- 
trait of  a  Gentleman,"  but  the  proposition  to 
show  it  over  its  own  name  at  the  Whistler  Me- 
morial Exhibit  last  winter  excited  Boston  even 
more  than  did  the  two  fig-leafless  boys  whom 
Saint-Gaudens  plastered  on  their  Library,  or 
Macmonnies's  tipsy  and  ungarmented  Bacchante 
whom  they  banished.  In  fact,  these  three  inci- 
dents have  furnished  Boston  its  only  true  ex- 
citement since  the  Tea  Party. 

Mr.  Canfield  is  a  figure  of  national  impor- 
tance, and  has  reached  the  dignity  of  being  chal- 
lenged to  a  legal  duel  by  the  District  Attorney, 
William  Travers  Jerome,  another  personage  of 
New  York  importance.  Mr.  Jerome  accused 
Mr.  Canfield  of  winning  no  less  than  $450,000 
from  the  "half -drunken  cub"  of  a  multi-million- 
aire. This  masterpiece  of  haute  finance,  he  said, 
was  put  through  in  a  few  evenings.  The  Dis- 
trict Attorney  called  on  the  whole  State  Legis- 
lature at  Albany  to  pass  a  law  for  Mr.  Can- 
field's  special  benefit;  but  Mr.  Canfield,  they 
say,  appealed  to  a  still  higher  power,  the  lobby. 
And  at  least  one  Senator  made  an  almost  tear- 
ful speech  against  any  infringement  of  consti- 
tutional rights,  as  if  the  Constitution  had  been 
drawn  up  especially  for  Mr.  Canfield's  sake. 


so  Cbe  iReal  mew 

There  is  something  magnificently  feudal  and  ba- 
ronial in  a  war  like  this,  and  Mr.  Canfield  may 
soon  be  found  running  for  Congress. 

Now,  "Ananias"  Blake  had  the  entree  at  Can- 
field's,  for  everyone  knows  that  a  newspaper  re- 
porter can  be  relied  on  to  keep  a  secret  if  he 
promises. 

So  Blake  took  Joyce  through  the  marble  pillars. 
He  pointed  out  clubmen  and  social  figures  who 
have  a  national  fame  as  Among-Those-Pres- 
ent,  till  Joyce  felt  as  if  he  were  actually  getting 
into  society.  The  splendor  of  the  furnishings 
smote  him  with  awe,  and  the  dishes  served  by 
the  chef  were  evidently  appropriate  to  the  bou- 
quet of  the  wines.  Joyce  had  a  wild  desire  to 
gamble,  till  he  noticed  some  of  the  stakes.  He 
admired,  like  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  the  "ges- 
ture" wTith  which  an  old  plutocrat  tossed  a  bill 
of  unheard-of  denomination  on  a  red  or  a  black 
square;  but  it  loosened  his  knees  to  see  the 
croupier  rake  it  in  for  the  good  of  "the  house." 
In  a  few  minutes  he  felt  very  cold  at  the  ex- 
tremities, and  weakly  asked  Blake  to  lead  him 
away  and  wake  him  up.  Once  outside  he  had 
just  breath  enough  to  use  the  words  of  the  prize- 
fighter who  has  received  a  dent  in  his  solar  plexus : 

"I  am  hopelessly  outclassed." 

Blake  grinned,  and  said:  "Can  I  show  you 
something  a  little  less  fancy?" 

Joyce  took  courage  to  assent,  and  Blake  led 
him  to  a  restaurant  on  Sixth  Avenue,  where  he 


ON  THE  RIALTO 


(Samplers  si 

told  the  proprietor  that  he  had  a  friend  who  felt 
foolish.  The  proprietor  went  to  the  telephone 
and  soon  returned,  saying: 

"A  man  will  be  right  over  to  steer  you  up 
against  it." 

Joyce  felt  an  ominous  Ides-of-March  sound  in 
the  last  three  words,  but  he  dared  not  withdraw. 
While  they  waited,  Blake  sermonized: 

"There  are  all  kinds  of  pool  games  in  town. 
The  police  pay  so  many  calls  that  the  handbook 
men  have  been  kept  busy.  They  carry  their 
offices  in  a  hat,  and  their  exchange  is  any  corner 
saloon  that  keeps  a  stock  ticker.  The  hand- 
book men  have  gangs  of  'runners,'  who  go  to  the 
offices  of  their  regular  clients,  and  take  their  bets 
and  their  cash.  This  saves  the  bettor  time  and 
trouble ;  he  can  lose  his  money  without  other  in- 
convenience. They  give  no  higher  odds  than  15 
to  1,  however,  and  the  true  gambler  hates  such 
small  money.  It  is  strange  how  reliable  these 
handbook  men  are.  Gamblers  will  cheat  right 
and  left,  but  they  almost  always  pay  their 
acknowledged  debts  sooner  or  later.  This  is 
both  their  religion  and  their  stock  in  trade. 

"The  regular  poolrooms  are  of  many  kinds, 
and  they  are  too  many  for  the  police,  even  for 
Tammany  itself,  and  its  Commissioner  McAdoo, 
who  is  honestly  trying  to  sit  on  the  lid.  The  politi- 
cians can  do  better  if  they  want  to,  and  the  pool 
men  take  their  hats  off  to  the  district  leaders. 

When  Croker  was  in  power,  he  once  closed  every 
6 


82  £be  IReal 

poolroom  in  this  town  by  simply  sending  word 
around.  But  even  he  could  not  have  kept  the  lid 
down  many  days,  for  many  of  the  politicians  are 
interested  in  the  poolrooms,  and  they  say  that  the 
gamblers  can  poll  at  least  30,000  votes.  The  prof- 
its are  sometimes  thousands  of  dollars  a  day,  and 
there  are  too  many  people  in  town  who  want  to 
gamble  ever  to  make  it  possible  to  root  it  out. 

"There  are  the  poor  and  the  rich,  the  women 
of  the  streets  and  the  women  of  fashion.  The 
other  day  a  smart  dressmaking  establishment 
was  raided,  and  while  the  women  were  having 
hysterics  of  indignation  and  denying  with  tears 
that  they  were  interested  in  horseflesh,  the  tele- 
phone bell  rang.  A  policeman  answered  and 
a  far-away  voice  began  to  tell  racing  returns. 
There  are  at  least  twenty  poolrooms  for  women 
all  over  town,  and  many  of  the  men's  places  have 
women's  rooms. 

"There  is  big  money  in  the  telephone  pool- 
room exchange,  and  one  man  has  a  dozen  oper- 
ators at  work.  Regular  clients  simply  register 
their  bets  by  'phone,  and  get  their  returns,  if 
any,  by  cheque.  These  places  have  no  players, 
and  the  office  door  calls  it  a  'news  exchange.' 
They  say  that  one  of  the  men  in  Broad  Street 
often  handles  over  $10,000  on  one  race. 

"These  people  get  their  news  by  telegraph. 
The  stakes  are  big,  and  the  income  from  the 
poolrooms  alone  is  often  $7,000  a  day.  They 
used  to  charge  $17  a  day  for  one- wire  service. 


(Samblere  ss 

Recently  they  declared  a  raise  to  $25,  and  a 
commercial  war  followed.  There  are  men  in 
town  who  run  from  twenty-five  to  a  hundred 
poolrooms  each,  and  the  profits  sometimes  run 
to  $100,000  in  a  single  day.  Brooklyn  and  all 
the  other  towns  about  are  sprinkled  the  same 
way.  These  big  men  have  big  lawyers,  and 
fight  the  police  with  technicalities.  Peter  De 
Lacy  is  one  of  the  chief  of  these,  and  owns  sev- 
eral places;  one  of  them,  in  Park  Row,  was  open 
for  ten  years,  and  sometimes  you'll  see  three 
hundred  men  in  it  at  once.  The  man  known 
as  'The  Allen'  was  raided  one  hundred  and 
thirteen  times,  but  the  police  courts  have  never 
convicted  him.  In  the  first  place,  our  police 
force  could  never  keep  all  the  people  from 
gambling,  and  if  they  tried,  they'd  have  no  time 
for  anything  else." 

This  was  before  McAdoo's  assault  on  the  root 
of  the  evil,  the  telegraph  and  telephone  com- 
panies, when  by  invoking  the  law  and  arous- 
ing public  opinion,  he  brought  these  big  corpor- 
ations into  the  blaze  of  odium.  In  one  day  all 
the  poolrooms  were  paralyzed  as  at  Croker's 
nod :  and  then  the  wires  were  silent.  And  then 
they  were  cut  and  rooted  out  by  wholesale,  and 
the  pool  business  went  into  the  doldrums.  But 
who  can  believe  that  corporations  can  remain 
virtuous  forever,  or  that  men  will  ever  cease  to 
cherish  the  folly  of  gambling  ? 

But  it  was  Joyce's  luck  to  visit  New  York  just 


84 


IRcal  IHcw  H?orfc 


\ 


A 

NEW    YORK 

GAMBLER 


before  the  ukase  silencing  the  wires.  After 
a  short  wait  the  "runner"  appeared.  He  was 
as  handsome  as  a  Bret  Harte  gambler,  and, 
fortunately,  his  clothes  were  more  correct  than 
his  grammar.  After  a  cautious 
cross-qxamination,  he  took 
Blake  and  Joyce  in  tow.  He 
started  to  turn  down  a  side 
street,  but  seeing  a  policeman, 
went  round  the  block.  He 
led  them  to  a  handsome  resi- 
dence, like  any  other  save  for 
the  presence  of  a  well-dressed 
sentinel  on  the  sidewalk.  The 
guide  tipped  him  the  wink, 
and  the  three  mounted  the 
stoop.  The  runner  gave  one  long  and  two  short 
rings,  and  there  was  some  delay  in  gaining  ad- 
mittance through  the  unusually  handsome  bronze 
doors.  They  were  backed  with  steel. 

Once  inside,  there  was  a  sudden  change  from 
the  deserted  outer  appearance.  Within,  all 
was  hubbub,  and  the  confusion  of  many  voices. 
The  various  rooms  were  dense  with  men  and 
cigar  smoke;  at  least  a  hundred  people  were 
there.  The  click  of  chips,  the  jingle  of  coin,  the 
clatter  of  the  ball  dancing  round  the  whirring 
roulette  wheel,  and  the  nasal  sing-song  of  the 
masters  of  the  revel  were  all  shuttling  through 
the  buzz  of  voices.  A  brisk  young  man  in  shirt 
sleeves  was  chalking  up  on  a  large  blackboard 


Gamblers  85 

the  results  of  horse  races  in  various  parts  of  the 
country,  and  the  names  of  the  horses,  their 
jockeys  and  the  odds  were  given  in  each  race. 
The  floor  was  littered  with  bits  of  paper  like  a 
stage  after  a  snowstorm.  An  announcer  was 
calling  out  the  course  of  a  race  being  run  in  the 
far  South,  and  his  auditors  were  as  excited  as  if 
they  were  in  the  very  grandstand.  Here  was  a 
man  whose  forehead  was  large- veined  and  red; 
he  was  acting  like  a  jumping- jack  and  whisper- 
ing: 

"Come  on,  'Caterpillar'!  Come  on!  I  need 
the  money.  That's  right,  Bates,  draw  the  whip 
on  him.  Fraud!  He's  pulling  the  race.  He's 
chokin'  him.  Come  on,  damn  you,  come  on!" 
He  was  trying  earnestly  to  assist  to  the  front  a 
horse  several  thousand  miles  away  in  a  race  that 
was  already  run.  While  this  individual  was  in- 
viting apoplexy,  his  elbow  neighbor,  who  had 
nothing  on  this  event,  was  calmly  eating  a  cold 
cigar  as  he  read  a  large  racing  sheet,  covered 
with  a  maze  of  entries  throughout  the  country, 
with  the  age  and  "previous  performances"  of  a 
surprisingly  large  population  of  names  of  famous 
jockeys  and  o\vners,  the  weights  carried,  the 
weather  probabilities,  the  condition  of  the  track, 
and  the  hour  of  the  race  in  local  and  New  York 
time. 

A  negro  was  serving  drinks  and  sandwiches. 
The  "arguer"  was  trying  to  convince  a  cry- 
baby sport  that  he  had  not  been  robbed.  The 


86  Cbe  IReal  IRew  l?orfc 

"cashier"  was  recording  bets  and  taking  money 
from  his  concealment  in  a  booth.  This  pool- 
room had  no  telegraph  operator.  The  news 
came  from  upstairs  by  a  tube. 

The  runner  put  in  the  hands  of  Joyce  and 
Blake  a  book.  Joyce  read : 

'  Moody    and     Sankey's     Gospel    Hymns.' 
What's  this?" 

The  escort  answered,  solemnly: 

"If  any  cops  butts  in,  dis  place  is  a  religious 
joint,  see?  If  youse  hear  anybody  breakin' 
down  a  door,  hide  your  chips,  find  page  711, 
and  sing  like  hell.  See  ?" 

Joyce  saw.  After  some  dilly-dallying  he  got 
in  at  various  games,  but  though  he  won  a 
little  at  first,  he  always  lost  more  and  more. 
He  began  to  take  on  a  look  of  fatigue.  Blake 
nodded  for  him  to  follow  upstairs.  On  the  step 
Joyce  stopped  him  to  complain: 

"There  isn't  a  straight  game  in  the 
place." 

Blake  looked  at  him  pityingly. 

"You  want  a  lot  for  your  money,  don't  you? 
Well,  my  boy,  when  they  learn  to  square  the  cir- 
cle, they'll  be  able  to  make  a  really  truly  honest 
gambler.  Even  Diogenes  didn't  waste  oil  in  a 
place  like  this.  A  straight  game  of  faro  pays 
only  five  per  cent.  A  gambler  won't  look  at 
that  much." 

Upstairs  there  were  women — of  the  type  to  be 
expected  in  such  a  font.  They  were  not  all 


(Samblers 


87 


white.  They  were  spending  ill  what  was  ill  got. 
In  one  room  was  a  telephone,  and  an  attendant 
was  repeating  the  curious  names  of  horses,  and 
then  calling  them  down  the  tube.  The  last 
race  at  Bennings,  near  Washington,  was  just 


over.     It 

m  u  1 1  i- 

had  driv- 

owners 

pe  ration 

titles. 

The 

youth 

called 

down 

tube : 

"'  Diapha- 
nous'    wins 
by  a  nostril." 
"Megawd!  'e 
nerd-to- 
'Ting-a- 
a  close 
'W  i  d- 
a     n     d 
Shine' 


was  evident  that  the 
tude   of  race  horses 


an 


neck 


DIAPHANOUS  '  WINS  BY  A  NOSTRIL" 


(Aside  : 
was  a  hun- 
one  shot !) 
Ling'  come 
second  . 
ow's  Mite' 
'Rain  or 
was  neck 
for  thoyd 


money.  'Gold  Cure,'  the  favoryte,  was  no- 
where. 'Many  Thanks'  was  left  at  the  post. 
'Useful  Lady'  started  runnin'  de  wrong  way 
round.  'Diamonds  and  Foils'  trun  his  jockey 


Cbe  IRcal  IRcw 

an'  fell  on  him.  'Clear  the  Arena'  went  to 
sleep.  'Egg  Nogg'  and  ' Buttons '- 

But  they  never  knew  what  "Egg  Nogg"  and 
"Buttons"  did,  for  there  was  a  dull  sound,  as  of 
a  far-away  Russian  ship  obligingly  committing 
suicide  on  one  of  its  own  mines.  The  thuds 
were  repeated.  Their  effect  wTas  sickening,  but 
not  dull. 

Upstairs  and  down  the  family  was  doing  the 
quickest  bit  of  house-cleaning  ever  seen.  Rou- 
lette wheels,  faro  boxes,  race  bulletins  vanished 
instantly.  Blake  ran  downstairs  to  get  the  news. 
Joyce  was  petrified.  Then  there  rose  from  below 
the  sound  of  male  voices  trying  to  sing  in  chorus. 
The  few  wrho  got  the  right  song  got  the  wrong 
key,  and  "Shall  We  Gather  at  the  River  ?"  warred 
in  rough  counterpoint  with  "The  Ninety  and 
Nine,"  while  a  third  choir  insisted  on  "Bringing 
in  the  Sheaves."  Joyce  got  his  book  upside 
down  and  began  to  shriek  with  infinite  feel- 
ing,, "Oh,  Where  Is  My  Wandering  Boy  To- 
night?" 

The  women  were  disappearing  up  the  fire  es- 
cape, into  closets,  and  behind  chiffoniers,  while 
one  fat  man  tried  to  climb  up  an  imitation  fire- 
place pre-empted  by  a  pile  of  sickly  asbestos 
gas-logs.  Joyce  found  himself  deserted  and  slid 
under  a  divan,  whence  a  prior  tenant  cordially 
but  vainly  tried  to  kick  him  out.  As  they  writhed 
in  combat  the  noise  of  the  storming  party 
drowned  the  wavering  service  of  gospel  praise. 


(Bamblers  89 

The  police  gave  up  the  steel  door  as  hopeless 
and  began  on  the  windows  with  all  the  joy  of 
firemen.  The  crash  of  glass  ended  the  music  and 
the  hubbub  of  voices  was  now  devoted  to  ex- 
pressing righteous  indignation  at  so  rude  an  in- 
terruption of  a  religious  gathering.  The  police 
did  not  seem  to  be  impressed. 

Then  someone  turned  out  the  lights  suddenly, 
and  the  policemen  began  to  play  about  them 
with  clubs.  When  the  lights  w^ere  turned  on 
again  several  of  the  policemen  were  found  bus- 
ily pounding  one  another  to  a  jelly,  while  the 
true  criminals  were  crawling  along  the  floor  to 
escape.  This  made  the  officers  a  whit  less  gentle 
in  their  dealings.  Then  Joyce  heard  the  heavy 
tread  of  policemen's  brogans  on  the  stairs.  Sev- 
eral of  the  women  were  unearthed.  They  all 
protested  that  they  were  perfect  ladies,  and  em- 
phasized the  protest  with  a  surprising  command 
of  masculine  language. 

Joyce  was  so  frightened  that  when  he  was 
yanked  out  from  his  hiding-place  he  hung  on 
to  his  deadly  rival,  and  they  continued  to  fight 
in  the  very  presence  of  the  law.  When  they 
had  been  reduced  to  submission  and  bruises 
they  were  not  set  free,  as  were  the  other  guests. 
They  were  taken  to  jail  in  the  patrol  wagon, 
along  with  the  managers  of  the  place  and  a 
motley  array  of  gambling  implements,  including 
thousands  of  ivory  chips. 

Joyce  had  not  felt  that  there  were  so  many 


so  £be  IReal  mew 

people  on  earth  as  he  saw  gathered  in  the  street 
to  see  the  raid.  But  his  modesty  was  not  re- 
garded. Down  the  stoop  and  into  the  "  hurry- 
wagon"  he  was  hustled,  and  he  went  to  his  seat 
in  shame.  Arrived  at  the  station  the  sergeant 
took  down  the  "pedigree"  of  the  others.  He 
had  a  \vord  of  recognition  and  welcome  for  all. 
When  he  reached  Joyce  he  looked  surprised 
and  asked  his  name.  The  Chicagoan  stam- 
mered the  first  one  that  came  to  his  blue  lips : 

"G.  W-w-washington." 

"  Oh,"  smiled  the  sergeant:  "  direct  descendant 
of  the  first  President,  eh  ?" 

"Y-y-yes,  sir." 

"What's  the  charge,  officer?" 

"Resisting  the  authorities." 

"Same  offense  as  your  namesake,  eh?" 

Blake  hurried  in  now  like  an  angel  of  rescue. 
He  had  not  felt  called  upon  to  accompany  Joyce 
in  the  patrol  wagon,  but  he  could  not  desert  him. 
Blake,  it  happened,  had  always  treated  the  ser- 
geant well,  and  a  few  words  explaining  that 
his  friend  was  a  stranger  from  a  small  Western 
town  sufficed  to  save  Joyce  from  being  held  over 
for  the  Sunday  morning  court. 

Joyce  felt  so  much  relieved  at  his  escape  that 
his  spirits  rose  materially.  Blake  had  to  go  to 
his  office  to  write  up  the  story  of  the  raid.  He 
promised  to  meet  Joyce  at  midnight.  The  Chi- 
cagoan ate  a  heavy  dinner  and  sallied  forth  to 
peruse  the  streets  and  the  people. 


[AFTER    V 


THE     TENDERLOIN     AT     N|GHT BROADWAY     AGLOW — THE 

WOMEN  WHO  LOITER-+-THE  THEATRE  CROWDS — MUSIC- 
HALLS  —  AUTOMATIC  VAUDEVILLE  —  HERALD  SQUARE 

AT       NIGHT  THE       "  JOURNAL'S  "      FREE       COFFEE  — 

EMPTYING  OF  THE  THEATRES AFTER-THEATRE  SUP- 
PERS—  LATE  EXTRAS  —  THE  RATHSKELLERS  —  MORE 
TROUBLE 


BROADWAY  was  one  long  canon  of  light. 
Even  the  shops  that  were  closed  dis- 
played brilliantly  illuminated  windows.  In  some 
of  them  all  the  trickeries  of  electricity  were  em- 
ployed and  rhapsodies  of  color  glittered  in  every 
device  or  revolved  in  kaleidoscopes  of  fire. 

From  most  of  the  buildings  hung  great  living 
letters.  Some  of  these  winked  out  and  flashed 
up  again  at  regular  intervals.  Others  of  them 
spelled  bulletins  in  sentences  that  flared  auto- 
matically. From  the  green  and  white  dragon 
of  Rector's  to  the  rippling  electric  flag  of  the 
Journal's  uptown  office  the  hunt  was  always  for 
something  new,  something  different,  something 
that  caught  the  eye  by  its  super-ingenuity,  its 
hyper-phosphorescence  among  all  the  other  radi- 
ances. 

Broadway,  the  most  brilliant  street  in  all  the 
world,  was  aglow,  agleam,  ablaze! 


92  £bc  IReal  Ittcw 

The  sidewalks,  especially  on  the  western  side, 
were  heavy  writh  crowds  flowing  as  thickly  and 
richly  as  the  milk-and-honey  streams  of  Canaan. 
The  lowly  and  the  well-to-do  were  all  in  festival 
garb  and  humor.  Here  and  there  women  of 
various  stages  of  prosperity  wandered  erratically, 
ogling  every  detached  man,  yet  rarely  showing 
more  than  a  passive  solicitude  for  attention.  It 
is  only  in  the  minor  streets  that  a  "Good  even- 
ing, dear,"  is  ventured,  for  the  police  in  uniform 
or  in  plain  clothes  insist  on  that  outward  respect- 
ability which  is  so  pleasant  in  Paris  and  so  odi- 
ously absent  in  London.  Some  of  the  willing 
sisters  were  somewhat  tawdry,  but  the  poorer 
members  of  the  ancient  sorory  prefer  the  dark- 
er streets.  To  Broadway  flock  those  chiefly 
of  the  finer  ware,  and  the  wayfarer  need  not 
walk  far  or  wait  long  to  see  a  dozen  beauties, 
who  would  grace  any  company  and  who  go 
gowned  like  duchesses  adrift. 

At  this  hour  the  theatres  throw  open  their  hos- 
pitable doors  and  increasing  crowds  pour  to- 
ward every  threshold.  The  poorer  classes  go 
in,  as  a  rule,  through  doors  in  side  streets,  and 
the  throngs  that  enter  via  Broadway  are  of  an 
opulent  attire.  Long  lines  of  carriages  roll  up 
and'  unload  diamond-crowned  women  in  royal 
ermines  and  white-gloved  men  of  princely  hau- 
teur, while  the  street  cars  disgorge  a  hardly  less 
brilliant  throng — for  carriages  are  such  a  lux- 
ury to  hire  and  such  a  bankruptcy  to  own  in 


ASTRONOMY  FOR  FIVE  CENTS 


Genfcerloin  at  IRujbt          93 

New  York,  that  people  who  would  be 
reputed   wealthy   in.  other   cities  grow 
used  to  public  conveyances  here.     The 
street  cars  at  the  theatre 
hour  are  consequently  full 
of  bareheaded  beauty  in 
splendid  raiment. 

There  is  variety 
enough,  heaven  knows,  in 
the  theatres.  New  York 
is  the  capital  of  American 
dramatic  art,  such  as  it  is, 
and  the  American  dollar 
draws  the  greatest  stars 

of  England,  France,  Germany  and  Italy  to  play 
such  of  their  native  masterpieces  as  have  not 
already  been  done  here  by  American  troupes. 

New  York  has  over  half  a  hundred  theatres. 
The  prices  are  high — fifty  cents  to  two  dollars  at 
most  of  them.  The  women  take  off  their  hats  and 
most  of  the  men  downstairs  wear  evening  dress. 
The  stock  company  idea  prevails  at  few  places, 
and  the  long  run  is  preferred  by  most  of  the 
managers  to  Ibscene  solitude.  So  important  is 
a  New  York  verdict  to  the  rest  of  the  country 
that  many  plays  are  kept  on  at  a  loss  in  order 
that,  by  this  forced  run,  they  may  be  accepted  as 
successes  on  the  road.  First  nights  are  social 
events,  and  there  is  a  certain  coterie  usually  to 
be  found  at  these  occasions.  It  is  called  "the 
death  watch"  because  of  its  supposed  coldness; 


94  £be  IRcal  IRew 

yet  it  often  receives  with  rapture  a  play  which 
the  second-nigh ters  will  not  stand. 

Among  the  best  known  theatres  are  Daly's, 
of  eminent  reputation  as  a  home  of  the  English 
classics;  the  Empire,  which  has  a  stock  com- 
pany; the  Knickerbocker  (originally  Abbey's); 
Wallack's,  the  Manhattan,  Belasco's  Republic, 
the  New  Amsterdam  and  the  Hudson.  The 
Garrick  was  originally  the  fountain  of  the  Har- 
rigan  pieces,  which  were  not  so  much  plays  as 
delightful  galleries  of  New  York  types.  To  light 
opera  are  devoted  the  Casino,  which  has  become 
a  proverb  of  musical  comedy;  the  Broadway,  the 
new  Majestic  and  the  Lyric. 

But  Joyce  felt  in  no  mood  for  a  serious  even- 
ing. He  was  not  even  up  to  a  musical  comedy. 
Vaudeville  seemed  about  his  level.  But  even 
here  he  found  discontent,  for,  of  recent  years, 
the  high  salaries  of  vaudeville  theatres  have 
drawn  so  many  prominent  actors  from  the  "le- 
gitimate," and  they  have  been  producing  such 
increasingly  ambitious  and  artistic  little  dramas, 
that  one  cannot  leave  his  brain  at  home  any 
longer  when  he  goes  to  what  our  fathers  called 
a  variety  show. 

At  some  of  these  places  long  four-act  plays 
are  produced  by  stock  companies,  and  the  vaude- 
ville is  confined  to  the  entr'actes.  Besides,  they 
have  become  family  resorts,  and  their  perform- 
ances are,  as  they  say,  "such  as  any  young  girl 
can  take  her  mother  to  in  safety."  The  hours 


Genberloin  at 

are  liberal,  too,  and  the  continuous  performance 
lasts  from  two  in  the  afternoon  to  ten-thirty  at 
night.  Appealing,  as  they  do,  to  a  variety  of 
tastes,  ranging  from  the  weary  shoppers  to  the 
younger  children,  only  the  most  inoffensive  hu- 
mor is  permissible.  Even  at  the  venerable  Four- 
teenth Street  laughter-resort  of  Mr.  Antonio  Pas- 
tor (on  whose  stage  Lillian  Russell,  May  Irwin 
and  many  another  star  first  effulged  as  casual 
nebulse) — even  at  "Tony's"  one  must  come  pre- 
pared to  laugh  at  antisepticized  jokes. 

But  Joyce  wanted  to  be  offended.  He  roved 
aimlessly  from  the  ten-cent  Comedy  Theatre  on 
Broadway  and  Sixty-sixth  Street  and  the  Circle 
on  Sixtieth  Street,  to  Hammerstein's  marble  Vic- 
toria at  Forty-second  Street,  and  thence  by  slow 
stages  to  Proctor's  at  Twenty-eighth  Street,  and 
finally  to  Keith's  on  Fourteenth  Street.  But, 
though  large  audiences  were  hilarious  in  each 
of  them,  Joyce  dolefully  preferred  to  forfeit  his 
admission  fee,  and  would  not  stay. 

At  the  Dewey  Theatre  he  found  something 
nearer  his  needs.  A  troupe  of  so-called  "  Cracker- 
jack  Burlesquers"  were  disporting  as  near  the 
dead-line  of  propriety  as  the  police  allowed.  The 
women  were  dressed  to  the  minimum,  and  their 
piece  de  resistance  celebrated  a  prominent  na- 
tional figure  in  its  title,  "Dr.  Munyon  Outdone." 
But  it  was  all  very  tame  to  a  man  from  the  city 
which  had  the  honor  of  being  the  headquarters  of 
that  late  dealer  in  spices,  Mr.  Sam  T.  Jack. 


96 


Gbe  IRcal  1Rew  Jl)orfc 


Joyce  grew  lonelier  and  lonelier,  and  felt 
tempted  to  fly  to  the  nethermost  ends  of  the 
Bowery  concert  saloons  or  to  the  uttermost 
reaches  of  the  many  music-halls  in  One  Hun- 
dred and  Twenty-fifth  Street.  But  the  hour 
for  meeting  Blake  approached.  He  squan- 
dered a  dime  on  Huber's  Museum,  with  the 
freaks  on  the  platform  and  its 
still  more  curious  actors  on  the 
little  stage.  There  used  to  be  a 
remarkable  "barker"  at  Hu- 
ber's. He  looked  like  a  bank- 
rupt count  of  the  grand  old 
school  of  pomade  and  wax.  All 
day  he  wore  evening  dress  of  the 
same  epoch,  and  he  barked  in 
verse  in  a  fearful  and  wonderful 
manner  something  like  this  (if  I 
do  him  injustice,  may  his  shade 
forgive !) : 

"Ladies  and  gents,  for  only  ten  cents  you  can 
see  all  the  sights.  And  there  on  your  right  is 
the  great  fat  lady;  she's  a  healthy  baby  weighing 
three  hundred  pounds;  she's  six  foot  around. 
Her  husband  is  the  living  skeleton — see  him 
shivering.  The  dog-faced  boy  will  give  you  all 
joy,  and  the  tattooed  man  does  the  best  he  can. 
The  human  horse  is  wonderful,  of  course,  and 
I'll  show  to  you  the  boxing  kangaroo.  The 
lady  lion  tamer  will  please  every  stranger,  "etc., 
etc. 


THE        BARKER 


A  BOWERY  SOUBRETTE 


ftenberloin  at  IRigbt          ^7 

But  he  passed  away,  like  all  things  dear  arid 
delightful.  He  killed  himself  when  his  muse 
ceased  to  be  appreciated. 

Joyce  was  lured  next  into  the  fiery  palace  of 
"Automatic  Vaudeville"  on  Fourteenth  Street, 
where  one  cent  is  the  highest  price  for  any  of 
the  myriad  kinetoscopic,  phonographic  or  stereo- 
scopic displays.  But  he  tired  of  moving  pictures 
and  the  twang  of  cylindered  song  worried  him. 
He  was  disappointed  to  find  that  his  lung 
power,  his  striking  power,  his  grip,  his  height 
and  weight  were  all  far  below  the  normal — if 
the  cards  the  slot  machines  dealt  him  were 
correct.  He  took  a  car  up  Broadway. 

He  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  get 
down  at  Herald  Square,  that  ganglion  of  the 
town's  nervous  night  life.  The  Herald  building, 
looking  small  for  all  its  size,  resembled  an  artis- 
tic jewel  casket.  The  brood  of  bronze  owls  on 
its  cornices  were  staring  from  their  electric  eyes, 
and  the  large  clock,  with  dials  like  two  huge  eyes, 
seemed  to  make  an  owl  of  the  building's  own 
fa9ade.  Above  loomed  the  superb  bronze  figure 
of  Minerva,  who,  at  twelve  and  four,  lifts  an  im- 
perious hand,  at  whose  behest  a  cloud  of  steam 
comes  hissing  and  the  two  bronze  blacksmiths 
swing  their  sledges  against  the  resounding  bell. 

As  if  to  force  its  popular  note  upon  the  aristo- 
cratic realm  of  the  Herald,  the  Journal  chooses 
this  as  one  of  the  spots  for  issuing  its  free  lunch 
of  hot  coffee  and  sandwiches.  These  are  served 


IReal  IRew  l?orfc 

from  a  dark  covered  wagon  to  a  long  line  of 
unfortunates;  Joyce  counted  192  more  or  less 
wretched  examples  of  ill  luck.  The  long  queue 
coiled  all  the  way  round  the  statue  of  the  un- 
known philanthropist,  William  Earl  Dodge, 
who  stares  with  just  scorn  at  the  hideous  statue 
of  Horace  Greeley.  The  great  editor  sits  there 
to  keep  the  Tribune  from  being  forgotten  in  the 
uptown  rush  of  newspapers,  which  brought  the 
Herald  from  far-away  Ann  up  to  Thirty-fifth 
Street,  the  Times  from  City  Hall  Square  to  its 
towering  flatiron  on  Forty-second  and  will  soon 
take  the  Journal  to  its  future  home  on  Fifty-ninth 
Street. 

Joyce  paused  in  the  colonnade  of  the  Herald 
to  watch  through  the  glass  sides  the  stereotypers 
at  work  making  ready  the  columns  of  the  next 
morning's  paper  and  the  great  presses  at  work 
running  off  pink  extras  of  the  Evening  Telegram 
and  the  last  sheets  of  the  colored  Sunday  supple- 
ment. The  huge  rolls  of  paper  were  spun 
through  a  labyrinth  of  cutters,  folders  and  count- 
ers, and  came  forth  newspapers  ready  for  con- 
sumption. At  the  back  of  the  building  a  dozen 
wagons  were  waiting  to  dash  to  the  various  rail- 
road stations  with  the  Jersey,  the  Brooklyn  and 
the  up-State  editions,  which  special  trains  would 
carry  at  extra  speed. 

There  was  something  intellectual  about  this 
wizardry  that  bored  the  restless  Joyce,  so  he 
sauntered  on  up  Broadway.  At  this  hour  "the 


£en£>erloin  at  IHigbt          99 

Rialto,"the  promenade  of  actors,  was  deserted. 
The  theatres  were  emptying  their  crowds  now. 
The  old  hullaballoo  of  carriage  calls  that  once 
robbed  the  respectable  dwellers  in  this  region 
of  their  beauty-sleep  has  given  way,  as 
everything  does  nowadays,  to  a  silent  electric 
device  that  flashes  numbers  from  a  high  place. 
About  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  there  was 
a  seemingly  hopeless  tangle  and  many  carriage- 
folk  were  hurrying  along  the  streets  to  find 
their  carriages. 

The  walks  w^ere  noisy  with  a  buzz  of  critical 
comment  on  actors,  singers,  plays,  opera,  cos- 
tumes. Here  and  there  were  people  trying  to 
hum  and  whistle  a  nearly  catchy  tune.  The 
restaurants  of  all  prices  were  filling,  and  the 
young  man  offered  his  maid  whatever  he  could 
afford — from  a  simple  glass  of  beer  to  silver- 
bucketed  champagne;  from  the  cheap  but  last- 
ing rabbit  that  grows  in  Wales  to  a  lobster  car- 
dinal selected  in  the  pool  at  Rector's  and  taken 
thence  to  be  broiled  alive. 

Unavailingly  the  screaming 
newsboys  flaunted  at  him  their 
midnight  extras.  At  about  this 
hour  the  clock  catches  up  with  I 
the  evening  papers,  which 
issue  their  "  afternoon  edition" 
at  10  A.M.,  their  "4  o'clock 
edition"  at  noon,  their  "6 
o'clock"  at  two,  their  "10 


loo  £t>e  iReal  mew 

o'clock  special"  at  six,  and  their  "midnight 
edition"  at  eight.  There  they  usually  stop,  un- 
less there  is  a  prize-fight  in  San  Francisco,  when 
they  send  forth  their  loud-mouthed  hucksters  at 
2  A.M.  with  a  "postscript." 

But  the  Sunday  edition  of  the  Morning  Tele- 
graph comes  out  at  about  half-past  eleven  Satur- 
day night,  and  Joyce  felt  a  certain  devilishness 
in  buying  it  at  that  hour. 

Blake  met  him  at  the  appointed  hour,  and 
they  adjourned  to  a  rathskeller.  Some  astute 
New  York  caterer  found  that,  while  few  peo- 
ple will  go  to  a  basement  restaurant,  great 
crowds  will  throng  to  the  same  place  if  it  is 
called  a  rathskeller,  and  furnished  in  a  pseudo- 
German  style.  The  rathskeller,  which,  as  you 
know,  means  "council-cellar,"  is  well  named, 
being  the  favorite  resort  for  those  who  are  most 
in  need  of  good  advice.  In  the  spume  of  the 
beer,  the  froth  of  society  finds  its  counterpart. 
Here  the  chorus  girl  and  the  woman-about-town 
meet  the  sporting  salesman  and  the  roue  wTho 
is  a  shoe  clerk  by  day.  Gradually  the  more 
discreet  code  of  foot-flirtation  leads  to  the 
open  holding  of  hands,  and  finally  to  em- 
braces and  bibulous  love-making.  Also  the 
choicest  song  rises  high  in  collusion  with  the 
band. 

It  had  been  Joyce's  intention  to  visit  the 
nightly  ball  at  the  Haymarket,  where  the 
profligate  of  both  sexes  meet  and  carouse. 


ftenberloin  at  IRigbt 


101 


But  he  had  imbibed  so  many  and  so  various 
liquids  that  by  this  time  his  lee  scuppers  were 
awash.  Alcohol  made  him  more  self-assertive 
than  ever,  and  he  began  to  explain  to  Blake 
that  a  certain  extremely  pretty  girl  was  very 
ill-matched  with  the  very 
homely  youth  who  was 
trying  vainly  to  quench 
her  thirst  for  grape  juice 
with  malt  extracts. 

"  Itsh  a  shame  to  offer 
sho  shweesh  a  lady  plain 
beer,"  he  growled. 
"And  itsh  very  irrigat- 
ing to  me  to  have  to 
wash  him  hold  her  lily- 
white  hand  like  zhash. 
I  feel  it  my  sholemn 

duty  to  relieve  her  of  his  odioush  shoshiesy.  A 
true  gennelman  ought  to  always  reschue  beauty 
from  abeash!" 

Blake  managed  to  keep  the  knight  errant 
in  his  chair,  but  he  could  not  keep  the  knight 
errant  from  winking.  This  seemed  to  please 
the  lady  as  much  as  it  offended  her  escort. 
When  he  observed,  in  an  audible  tone,  that 
Joyce  behaved  like  a  drunken  Chicagoan, 
nothing  could  prevent  Joyce  from  resenting 
this  "shlander  on  his  shobriety"  and  the  slight- 
ing allusion  to  his  beloved  city. 

In   a  few   moments   chairs   and   tables   were 


102  £be  iReal  mew  Jflorh 

flying,  glass  was  crashing,  blood  and  beer  were 
spilling,  women  were  screaming,  waiters  were 
wringing  their  hands  and  trying  to  conceal 
their  joy.  Blake  was  too  fond  of  a  fight  to 
interfere,  and  the  finish  was  a  bit  of  living 
statuary  with  a  policeman  supporting  the  two 
limp  gladiators. 

There  was  no  patrol  wagon  this  time,  and  Joyce 
was  forced  to  walk  to  the  station  followed  by  a 
blissful  throng.  He  regretted  his  return  to  the 
same  station,  but  he  was  prepared  to  prove  his 
perfect  self-possession  when  Blake  whispered  in 
his  ear: 

"Pretend  you're  even  drunker  than  you  are. 
The  police  are  always  merciful  to  a  sot." 

So  Joyce  collapsed  completely  before  the 
desk.  He  was  pleased  to  see  another  ser- 
geant at  the  blotter,  and  when  he  was  asked 
his  name,  he  murmured,  thickly: 

"JohnAdamsh." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  said  the  sergeant.  "This  makes 
the  second  President  arrested  to-day." 

For  this  sergeant  also  Blake  had  done  a  good 
turn  once  upon  a  time.  When  he  explained  that 
his  friend  Mr.  Adams  was  simply  intoxicated, 
and  when  the  other  man  said  he  had  no  wish 
to  press  his  complaint  of  assault  and  battery, 
the  two  men  were  set  free  with  a  warning. 

Blake  put  Joyce  in  a  hansom  and  told  the 
driver  his  address.  "And  so,"  in  the  words 
of  Mr.  Pepys,  "and  so  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  VI 

SUNDAY    IN    TOWN — HIGH    AND    LOW    CHURCH THE    NUM- 
BERLESS CREEDS,  RITUALS  AND  LANGUAGES  IN  TOWN 

FAMOUS  PREACHERS CHURCH  ARCHITECTURE FASH- 
IONABLE CHURCHES WALL  STREET  ON  SUNDAY — THE 

EASTER  PARADE FIFTH  AVENUE UPPER  BROAD- 
WAY  CENTRAL  PARK  ON  SUNDAY;  THE  CARRIAGES 

RIVERSIDE  DRIVE  BY  DAYLIGHT THE  HUDSON A  SUN- 
SET  THE  "  DINER  DE  LUXE  "  AT  SHERRY'S A  CON- 
CERT AT  CARNEGIE  HALL GREAT  CONDUCTORS  WHO 

VISIT  NEW  YORK NEW    YORK    AS  A    CAPITAL    OF  MUSIC 

— SUPPER  AT  THE  BEAUX-ARTS 

SLEEP  and  the  Sunday  paper  are  the  great- 
est enemies  of  church-going.  Many  of 
the  preachers  have  provided  facilities  for  the 
former.  But,  in  their  search  for  attractions,  they 
have  neglected  the  latter.  Some  day,  however, 
an  enterprising  parson  will  hang  a  file  of  Sun- 
day magazines  in  each  of  the  pews;  the  only 
objection  being  that  the  rattling  of  the  paper 
might  keep  the  unliterary  members  awake. 

De  Peyster  was  one  of  those  lucky  dogs  that 
may  lie  abed  late  week-days.  So,  by  rights,  he 
should  have  been  up  betimes  Sundays.  But 
Should  and  Would  have  long  had  a  family  quar- 
rel. Yet  on  this  Sunday  morning  De  Peyster 
was  out  of  his  bed,  into  his  tub,  inside  his  togs, 
around  his  breakfast  and  in  front  of  Miss  Col- 
lis's  hotel  at  10.45. 


104  Cbe  IReal  IRew  JOorft 

She  had  been  up  since  7.30  trying  on  and  re- 
twisting  an  amazingly  handsome  new  hat,  and 
she  came  forth  from  the  elevator  like  a  spring 
dawn  issuing  from  the  caves  of  winter. 

"It's  only  about  sunrise  in  San  Francisco," 
said  De  Peyster,  batting  his  eyes  over  the  vision. 
"And  I  feel  as  if  it  were  about  daybreak  here. 
Where  shall  we  go  ?" 

"What  sort  of  church  is  the  best?" 

"Well,  churches  are  supposed  to  be  like  the 
Kentucky  idea  of  whisky — all  good,  but  some 
better  than  others.  You  pays  your  contri- 
bution, and  you  takes  your  choice.  Do  you 
prefer  high  or  low?" 

"  Church  or  society  ?" 

"Same  thing,"  he  said,  as  they  walked  up 
Fifth  Avenue.  "  We  have  all  kinds — high,  low, 
jack  and  the  game,  East  Side,  West  Side,  down- 
town and  Harlem.  The  oldest  in  this  town  are 
the  reformed.  I  like  that  idea  of  even  churches 
being  reformed.  If  this  is  a  naughty  old  town, 
it  isn't  for  lack  of  gospel.  From  Trinity  to 
St.  Somebody-or-Other's  of  the  Bronx,  there  are 
over  eleven  hundred  churches,  and  you  can  hear 
sermons  in  almost  every  language  since  Babel. 

'You  can  see  the  ritual  of  the  Joss  House, 
the  Christian  Science,  the  Theosophical,  the 
Swedenborgian,  the  gorgeous  Roman  Catholic 
with  sometimes  a  visiting  Mexican  cardinal, 
Episcopal,  Presbyterian,  Methodist,  Baptist, 
Congregationalist,  Unitarian,  Lutheran,  Univer- 


Sunba?  in 


105 


salist  and  Hebrew.  There  are  two  Quaker 
meeting-houses  and  a  Moravian  society.  There's 
a  Church  of  Strangers  and  a  Mariners'  Church 
near  Chatham  Square.  Even  the  agnostics  hold 
services  under  Felix  Adler,  Ph.D.  Nobody  can 
complain  of  intolerance,  eh  ? 

"Then  there  are  the  Sal- 
vation Army,  and  the  Vol- 
unteers in  their  barracks, 
and  any  number  of  street- 
corner  preachers,  including 
one  good  man  who  spends 
all  he  collects  providing 
beds  for  the  homeless.  So 
it's  hard  to  tell  you  what 
church  you  want  to  visit." 

"  Well,  what  preacher  has 
the  most  fame  ?" 

"Dr.  Parkhurst,  I  pre- 
sume. He  got  it  first  by 
attacking  the  police.  Poor, 
innocent  things!  they  said 
there  was  no  vice  in  New  York,  or  at 
least  they  couldn't  find  it.  To  the  police  all 
things  are  pure.  So  Dr.  Parkhurst  went  round 
and  found  it  and  told  about  it  with  lively  details. 
In  the  course  of  time  he  became  the  most  power- 
ful figure  in  New  York  except  Richard  Croker, 
now  Squire  Croker,  of  Wantage,  England. 
Parkhurst  gave  corruption  a  terrible  scare;  he 
set  on  foot  large  investigations,  and  it  was  mainly 


A    NEW    YORKER 


106 

due  to  him  that  many  a  brass-buttoned  partner 
of  crime  lost  his  place. 

"New  York  looks  on  reform  as  a  good  thing 
for  an  occasional  bracer,  but  bad  for  a  steady 
beverage.  So  the  Tammany  Tiger  does  a  sort 
of  'Off  again,  on  again,  gone  again,  Finnegan, 
Flanagan';  and  so  the  town  finally  got  tired 
of  Boss  Parkhurst,  as  it  tires  of  everybody  else 
in  a  short  time.  It's  the  ficklest  town  in  the 
world.  Since  then  Dr.  Parkhurst  has  been  a 
critic  instead  of  a  captain.  But  you'd  enjoy 
hearing  him  preach.  He  has  a  dry,  cutting  wit 
that  keeps  his  audience — I  mean  congregation- 
laughing  half  the  time. 

"His  sense  of  humor  failed  him,  though,  re- 
cently, when  he  said  that  the  Chicago  Iroquois 
Theatre  horror  was  '  God's  own  fire.'  It  sounded 
medieval,  as  well  as  in  bad  taste.  But  a  few 
blocks  above  him,  at  the  Collegiate  Reformed 
Church,  Dr.  Burrell  went  him  several  better, 
for  he  said  that  the  Mont  Pelee  disaster  was  a 
direct  visitation  of  God — a  second  Gomorrah. 
Shows  how  we've  changed,  doesn't  it?  A  few 
years  ago  a  preacher  would  have  been  thought 
a  heretic  who  said  anything  else.  Now,  even 
the  other  preachers  think  it  heathenish  to  say 
such  things." 

"But  let's  not  go  into  theology;  let's  go  to 
church,  where  we  won't  hear  any,"  said  Miss 
Collis.  "What  other  famous  preachers  are 
there  ?" 


Sunba\>  in 

"There's  the  athletic  Britisher,  Dr.  Rainsford, 
of  St.  George's,  in  Stuyvesant  Square.  He  has 
Pierpont  Morgan  for  a  parishioner,  but  he  also 
runs  a  workingmen's  club  in  a  big  building  ad- 
joining his  church  and  has  a  boys'  manual  train- 
ing school  and  a  company  of  boy  infantry.  Then 
there's  Bishop  Potter,  of  course,  and  Dr.  Greer, 
now  his  coadjutor;  the  Unitarian,  Rev.  Robert 
Collyer,  and  his  associate,  Minot  J.  Savage,  at 
the  Church  of  the  Messiah  in  East  Thirty-fourth 
Street;  and  Dr.  Richard  S.  Storrs,  in  Brooklyn; 
and  there  are  several  other  preachers  who  get  into 
the  papers  now  and  then,  including  Dr.  Hillis 
in  Brooklyn — the  City  of  Churches.  But  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  and  T.  DeWitt  Talmage  and 
Dr.  Houghton  and  John  Hall  are  dead,  and 
Thomas  Dixon  and  Henry  van  Dyke  have 
moved  away.  There  are  no  giants  here  now 
except  Dr.  Parkhurst,  and  he's  tired." 

"Then  what  churches  are  the  most  beautiful 
for  architecture  ?"  said  the  art  student. 

"The  glorious  Episcopal  Cathedral  of  St.  John 
the  Divine  is  only  begun.  It  will  take  forty  or 
fifty  years  to  finish  and  will  cost  six  million  dol- 
lars. They  hold  services  in  the  crypt,  where 
Bishop  Potter  officiates.  But  the  Catholic  Ca- 
thedral is  a  wonderfully  beautiful  thing.  It  cost 
two  millions.  Its  cornerstone  was  laid  in  1879, 
but  it  is  as  snowy  as  if  it  were  built  yesterday. 
That's  our  clean  New  York  air.  I  can't  tell  you 
about  the  architecture  technically,  except  that 


108 


IReal  IRew 


while  it  is  not  very  large  for  a  cathedral,  it  is 
considered  one  of  the  most  perfect  and  pure  and 
beautiful  in  the  world,  and  its  two  spires  are 
an  everlasting  inspiration. 

"The  architect  was  James  Renwick,  who  also 
designed  the  fascinating  little  masterpiece,  Grace 
Church,  which  stands  up  like 
a  beautiful  iceberg  as  you 
look  up  Broadway.  On  hot 
days,  it  fairly  cools  your  soul 
to  see  it,  with  its  little  grass 
plot  and  its  cheerful  gables. 

"  One  of  the  most  gorgeous 
churches  in  the  country  is  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Presbyterian, 
but  it's  more  like  a  theatre, 
with  its  light  woods,  its  slop- 
ing floor  and  its  dazzling  col- 
ors. You  ought  also  to  see 
the  Church  of  the  Ascension,  down  on  Fifth 
Avenue  and  Tenth  Street,  with  its  famous 
painting  of  the  Ascension  by  John  La  Farge, 
who  has  also  contributed  some  work  to  St. 
Thomas's  Church.  Nearby  is  the  Old  First 
Church,  one  of  the  best  bits  of  the  city's  archi- 
tecture. 

"We'll  take  a  horseback  ride  some  morning 
through  the  shady  bridle-paths  of  Central  Park, 
and  then  you'll  rave  over  the  dome  of  the  tem- 
ple of  Beth-El  with  its  gold  ribs.  It  is  too 
big  for  the  body  of  the  synagogue,  but  across 


A   NEW   YORKER 


in  £o\\m  109 

the  green  trees  of  the  Park  it  is  an  Ara- 
bian Nights'  dream.  The  big  Jewish  Temple 
Emanu-El,  on  Forty-third  Street  and  Fifth 
Avenue,  is  counted  the  finest  piece  of  Moorish 
in  the  country. 

"But  one  of  the  pleasantest  sights  in  New 
York  is  the  famous  Little  Church  Around  the 
Corner,  in  East  Twenty-ninth  Street.  You 
know  the  story  of  the  actor,  George  Holland. 
When  he  died  his  friends  wanted  to  hold 
the  funeral  at  a  certain  church  on  Madison 
Avenue.  But  the  preacher  implied  to  Joseph 
Jefferson,  who  made  the  request,  that  actors 
were  undesirable  church  visitors,  dead  or  alive, 
and  told  him  that  his  late  friend  could  doubt- 
less find  accommodations  at  'the  little  church 
around  the  corner.'  The  actors  have  loved 
it  ever  since,  and  so  have  the  runaway  couples 
who  flock  there.  It's  a  beautiful  vine-covered 
nook,  hardly  as  big  as  its  real  name — The 
Church  of  the  Transfiguration.  It  has  a  fa- 
mous stained-glass  window  memorial  of  Harry 
Montague,  the  actor. 

"It  would  take  a  week  to  describe  all  the 
architectural  beauties  and  mistakes  in  New 
York  churches.  But  I  think  that  some  of  the 
finest  are  the  Christian  Science  churches.  They 
look  less  like  churches  than  like  the  savings 
banks,  which  are  so  well  built  nowadays;  but 
they  are  very  impressive  as  architecture." 

"I'll  see  them  some  other  day.     Suppose  you 


no  £be  iReal  IRcw  JPorh 

take  me  to  the  most  fashionable  church,"  Miss 
Collis  ventured,  ingenuously. 

"Ah,  now  you're  laying  off  the  mask.  There 
spoke  the  true  woman  and  the  true  believer. 
I  was  just  going  to  take  you  to  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's, one  of  the  swaggerest  in  town,  though 
not  very  impressive,  architecturally — espe- 
cially since  the  steeple  was  blown  down  a  few 
months  ago  in  a  moderate  gale.  But  it  has 
a  superb  entrance.  Mrs.  Vanderbilt  wanted 
to  give  it  some  bronze  doors  to  rival  the  Astor 
doors  in  Trinity.  She  was  told  that  they  wpuld 
be  out  of  place  with  the  plain  entrance,  so  she 
said  she  would  give  a  new  entrance.  The  re- 
sult is  one  of  the  finest  successes,  I  think,  in 
the  world.  It  is  very  surprising  to  see  so  much 
nudity  in  church  decoration,  but  it  is  carved 
with  splendid  vigor,  and  the  bronze  work  is 
not  so  terribly  far  behind  Ghiberti's  master- 
piece in  Florence." 

Miss  Collis  was  again  ready  with  a  charge 
of  sacrilege,  but  they  arrived  that  moment 
before  the  church  itself,  and  she  was  too  deeply 
engrossed  in  the  ensemble  of  arches,  with  their 
sheltered  sculptures,  the  crowded  line  of  human 
figures,  the  gracious  columns,  the  elaborately 
carved  doors  and  the  outer  portals  with  their 
rich  green  patina.  While  she  paused  to  rhap- 
sodize, a  great  crowd  was  pouring  into  the 
church  as  a  smaller  crowd  poured  out. 

"As   I   feared,"    said   De  Pevster.     "It's  the 


in 

usual  case  of  'standing  room  only,'  and  there's 
no  chance  of  a  pew.  I  ought  to  have  remem- 
bered that  this  is  Easter  morning.  It  opens 
with  a  pretty  custom,  -borrowed  from  Magdalen 
College,  at  Oxford.  Down  in  Chelsea  Square 
the  Easter  daybreak  is  saluted  by  divinity 
students  who  sound  trumpets  north,  south, 
east  and  west  from  a  high  tower,  and  then 
sing  the  prelude  to  Palestrina's  'Victory/  and 
then  the  chimes  ring  in  the  Easter  morning." 

He  hailed  a  cab  and  they  were  whisked  up  to 
Fifty-third  Street. 

"This  is  St.  Thomas's  Church,  doubtless  the 
most  fashionable  in  New  York.  The  most 
appallingly  elaborate  weddings  are  held  here, 
and  it  sometimes  takes  a  cordon  of  police  to 
keep  the  uninvited  women  from  treating  the 
bride  like  a  bargain  counter." 

But  here,  also,  the  crowd  was  too  great  for 
hope.  So  he  proposed  a  jaunt  to  Old  Trinity. 
They  walked  to  the  Elevated  station.  The 
downtown  train  was  sparsely  populated,  and 
the  business  streets  it  crossed  wore  a  Sabbath 
calm.  Great  warehouses  were  locked  in  sleep, 
and  streets  that  boiled  with  traffic  all  week 
were  now  a  deserted  village.  They  got  out  at 
Rector  Street,  and  passed  through  the  almost 
empty  arcade,  \vhere,  on  week-days,  a  Gulf 
Stream  flows  through  the  covered  way,  lined 
like  an  Oriental  street  with  little  bazaars  offer- 
ing a  multitude  of  wares. 


Facing  them  was  the  short  canon  of  Wall 
Street,  on  this  day  as  sparsely  traveled  as  in 
the  Knickerbocker  days  200  years  ago,  when 
it  ran  alongside  the  w^ooden  wall  that  old  Gov- 
ernor Stuyvesant  built  to  keep  out  the  English. 
Looking  straight  down  Wall  Street,  in  cairn 
resignation  stands  Trinity  Church,  the  richest 
in  the  country.  It  occupies  part  of  what  was 
once  the  big  farm  of  the  Dutch  West  India 
Company.  Then  it  became  the  English  king's 
farm,  and  was  granted  to  his  Colonial  Church. 
The  land  that  is  still  retained  pays  the  church 
an  annuity  of  half  a  million  dollars,  and  enables 
it  to  maintain  the  big  St.  Paul's  Church  as  a 
chapel,  and  Grace  Church  as  another,  to- 
gether with  six  other  chapels,  several  schools, 
a  hospital,  a  dispensary,  twenty-four  missions 
and  a  cemetery  of  its  own. 

Trinity  is  like  the  Irishman's  knife.  It  is 
the  same  Old  Trinity,  though  it  was  built  in  1697, 
rebuilt  in  1737,  burned  down  in  the  great 
fire  of  1776,  rebuilt  in  1778,  and  again  in 
1864.  The  churchyard  inspires  the  American 
with  a  sense  of  the  antiquity  of  our  young 
country,  for  it  has  the  grave  of  a  five-year- 
old  child  who  died  in  1681.  Here  also  are 
the  graves  of  William  Bradford,  who  printed 
the  first  New  York  newspaper;  of  Alexander 
Hamilton,  the  founder  of  our  finance;  of  the 
steamboat  man,  Robert  Fulton;  of  Albert  Gal- 
latin,  General  Phil  Kearnv,  and  of  "Don't- 


A  BOX  AT  THE  OPERA 


Sunbai?  in 


113 


give-up-the-ship ' '      Law- 
rence.      Certain   vandals 
once    planned    to   run   a 
street  through  the  church- 
yard, but  a  few  reverent 
souls  hastened  to  erect   there   the 
"Martyrs'  Monument"  in  memory 
of  the  thousands  of  our  forefathers 
who  perished  of  starvation  and  dis- 
ease in  the  horrible  prisons  kept  by 
the  British  troops  during  the  Revo- 
lution.    Once  that  monument  was 
lifted,  the  desecration  of  the  street 
project  was  given  up. 

A  curious  proof  of  the  reality  of 
characters  of  fiction  is  in  the  grave- 
stone marked  "  Charlotte  Temple." 
She  was  an  English  schoolgirl  who 
ran  away  to  America  with  a  Brit- 
ish officer,  who  betrayed  her,  and 
then  left  her  to  die  of  a  broken  heart — a  pitiful 
fate,  relieved  only  by  the  fact  that  it  all  occurred 
solely  in  a  popular  novel  of  1790,  by  a  Mrs. 
Rowson.  The  fictitious  tomb  over  the  imaginary 
grave  of  a  creature  of  fancy  has  never  been  dis- 
turbed since  the  first  dreamer  placed  it  there. 
If  Verona  has  her  Juliet's  tomb,  we  have  at 
least  the  grave  of  Charlotte  Temple. 

Once,  the  spire  of  Trinity  was  the  first  visible 
bit  of  New  York  to  incoming  ships.  Now,  our 
wise  men  of  Babel  try  to  reach  heaven  by  office 
8 


OF  THE  BROADWAY 
SQUAD 


114  Cbe  IRcal  mew 

buildings,  and  many  an  elevator  boy  soars 
daily  in  his  airship  far  above  the  lofty  cross  that 
tops  this  steeple.  But  it  still  holds  its  place 
high  in  the  town's  affection,  and  when  its 
chimes  ring  in  the  New  Year,  thousands  of 
merrymakers  gather  to  hear;  and  the  symphony 
of  the  horns  and  kazoos  that  gives  the  old  year 
its  wake  is  hushed  until  the  brazen  tongues  of 
Trinity  bells  have  given  the  good  word  that 
the  new  leaf  has  actually  been  turned. 

To  the  peacef ulness  of  Trinity's  heavy  foli- 
aged  lawns,  the  sweet  Nirvana  of  its  blissful 
dead,  and  the  cool  silence  of  its  hospitable  naves, 
many  a  distracted  financier,  broken  of  heart  and 
hope,  hurries  for  escape  from  the  wolf-packs  of 
Wall  Street.  Under  the  groined  roof,  the  light 
itself  takes  on  religion  as  it  sweeps  through  the 
deep-tinged  windows,  and  dreams  over  the 
white  marble  altar  with  the  red  shafts,  its  mosaic 
cross  set  with  cameos  and  the  reredos  of  ala- 
baster. 

So  now  a  deep  solemnity  filled  the  heart  of  the 
fair  stranger  from  San  Francisco,  and  she 
knelt  for  a  moment  of  adoration.  De  Peyster 
gazed  at  her  with  a  new  tenderness.  "What  is 
more  beautiful  than  a  girl  who  kneels  in  prayer  ?" 
he  mused.  He  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to  throw 
his  arm  about  her  and  kneel  by  her  side. 

But  he  shook  off  seriousness  as  something 
strange  to  his  shoulders.  When  she  rose  again, 
he  nervously  told  her  that  they  could  not  linger. 


Sunba?  in  Gown  us 

She  paused  once  more  to  study  the  three 
elaborately  modeled  bronze  doors,  the  central 
door-  by  Carl  Bitter,  and  the  north  door  by 
J.  Massey  Rhind,  showing  Biblical  scenes;  the 
south  door  by  Charles  Niehaus,  picturing  in 
high  relief  scenes  from  American  history.  De 
Peyster  explained  that  William  Waldorf  Astor 
and  John  Jacob  Astor  had  given  these  doors  at 
a  cost  of  $40,000,  and  the  altar  and  reredos  at  a 
cost  of  $100,000,  as  a  public  memorial  to  their 
father,  who  left  them  so  many  substantial  re- 
membrances. 

Then  they  moved  on  to  Trinity's  near  neigh- 
bor and  pensioner,  St.  Paul's  Chapel,  built 
in  1764  and  still  standing,  the  oldest  church  in 
this  city.  It  faces  the  west,  and  once  its  lawn 
went  to  the  water's  edge.  But  the  water  has 
receded,  and  hideous  commercial  blocks  have 
crowded  between.  Major  Andre,  Lord  Howe 
and  George  IV,  when  he  was  a  middy,  wor- 
shiped here,  and  His  Excellency  George  Wash- 
ington came  here  attended  by  both  Houses  of 
the  very  new  Congress  after  his  inauguration, 
and  regularly  afterward.  His  pew  is  still  un- 
altered. In  one  wall  is  a  tablet  to  General 
Montgomery,  who  perished  at  Quebec  in  that 
ill-timed  assault  on  New  Year's  Eve,  1775. 
Montgomery's  body,  buried  in  Canada,  was 
brought  back  in  1818,  and  his  widow,  who  had 
bade  him  good-bye  when  he  left  her  forty-three 
years  before,  sat  on  her  piazza  at  historic  Tarry- 


116  Gbe  IReal  IRew  H?orfc 

town,  and,  in  her  old  age,  saw  his  remains  car- 
ried down  the  river  in  state,  with  mournful 
music  and  a  plume-covered  coffin. 

In  this  yard  are  also  buried  two  Irish  rebels 
and  fugitives  of  '"98" — Thomas  Addis  Emmet 
and  William  J.  McNevin,  among  the  earliest  to 
find  a  refuge  in  the  country  that  has  become  al- 
most a  new  Erin.  Here  also  is  buried  a  famous 
actor,  George  Frederick  Cooke,  whose  monu- 
ment has  been  three  times  restored,  by  Charles 
Kean,  E.  A.  Sothern  and  Edwin  Booth,  since  it 
was  first  built  by  Edmund  Kean  in  1821.  There 
is  an  honorable  old  elm  here,  sole  survivor  of 
eight  planted  in  1766. 

De  Peyster  cut  short  Miss  Collis's  desire  to 
tarry  in  precincts  so  full  of  storied  memory  to 
the  people  of  the  new  West.  He  said  that  they 
must  hasten  back  uptown  to  see  the  famous 
"Easter  Parade." 

"The  procession  isn't  what  it  once  was,"  he 
said.  "A  few  years  ago  both  sides  of  Fifth 
Avenue  were  so  packed  with  the  best  people  in 
their  best  clothes  that  one  could  not  move  faster 
than  a  very  slow  walk.  But  the  churches  have 
been  playing  leapfrog  over  one  another  to  get 
uptown,  and  now  West  End  Avenue  and  upper 
Broadway  divide  the  honors.  And  the  weather 
is  so  uncertain  that  people  are  beginning  to  be 
more  afraid  of  pneumonia  than  of  appearing  in 
last  week's  hat." 

None  the  less,  the  scene  was  an  impressive  one 


in 

to  the  girl  from  out  of  town,  to  whom  the  very 
name  of  Fifth  Avenue  was  a  symbol  of  wealth 
and  glory.  In  all  the  windows  along  the  street 
were  lilies  and  azaleas,  and  it  was  a  rare  woman 
whose  bunch  of  violets  was  less  than  spend- 
thriftily  huge.  All  day  Saturday  the  florists  had 
been  crowding  the  streets  with  wagon-loads  of 
spring,  and  even  stages  and  coaches  had  been 
brought  into  service  for  delivery. 

After  a  stroll  up  the  crowded  avenue  De 
Peyster  took  Miss  Collis  to  her  hotel  for  lunch 
and  a  rest.  But  he  would  not  relinquish  her 
for  long,  and  at  four  he  was  back,  with  his  sister 
and  Calverly,  in  the  crested  family  carriage,  with 
its  pedigreed  horses  and  its  liveried  coachman 
and  footman  of  lofty  dignity,  if  a  trifle  super- 
cilious. 

They  drove  to  Central  Park,  and  here  was  a 
second  Easter  review — only  a  cavalcade  in  place 
of  infantry.  Calverly  was  reminded  of  the  Hyde 
Park  splendor. 

"But  your  horses  aren't  up 
to  our  average,"  he  said,  "and 
you  have  no  coachmen  with 
powdered    hair    and    gor- 
geous   garters.     And    I'm 
afraid  some  of  your  people 
have    no    right   to 
their  cockades  and 
their  crests." 

"  Oh,  what's  the  IN  THE  PARK 


118  £be  iRcal  IRcw  JPorft 

difference?"  growled  De  Peyster.  "Anyway, 
this  Park  is  an  enormous  improvement  on  the 
flat  and  tame  old  roadways  of  yours.  And  you 
must  admit  that  the  stunning  women  we  are 
passing  are  vastly  finer  to  watch  than  your  blue- 
blooded,  big-boned,  old  aristocrats." 

"There's  something  in  that,"  said  Calverly, 
"but  I  don't  see  why  you  limit  it  to  the  women 
we  are  passing.  Seems  to  me  we  are  taking  the 
best  of  the  lot  with  us." 

He  looked  deep  into  Miss  De  Peyster's  eyes, 
quite  ignoring  Miss  Collis.  But  she  had  her 
compensation  in  watching  the  blushing,  stam- 
mering guiltiness  with  which  he  debarrassed  him- 
self of  the  unusual  compliment. 

Miss  Collis  tried  to  study  the  people  who 
passed,  but  the  roadways  turned  so  often,  the 
carriages  flew  past  so  swiftly  and  the  crowd  was 
so  dense  that  she  grew  dizzy.  De  Peyster  was 
forever  lifting  his  hat  and  telling  his  sister  whom 
he  had  recognized,  but  she  declined  to  be  moved 
or  to  watch  for  their  friends. 

The  parade  was  a  prodigious  affair,  but  mixed. 
For,  along  with  the  superber  equipages  and  the 
splendor  of  the  automobiles  went  the  dull  coaches 
of  one-horse  gentility,  the  hansoms  of  the  busi- 
nesslike chorus  girls  and  their  indulgent  admir- 
ers, the  shabby  hacks  of  those  who  were  proud 
.to  have  the  three  dollars  to  pay  for  the  round, 
and  the  crowded  public  automobile  stages,  with 
their  gaping  and  twisting  plebeians  trying  to  see 


Sunbap  in  £own 

everything  at  once  for  twenty-five  cents.  Here 
and  there  sputtered  a  few  racing  automobiles, 
with  their  fiends  in  workaday  caps  and  gowns. 
The  swarms  of  bicyclists  that  once  filled  the 
roads  like  a  plague  of  locusts  were  reduced  to  a 
few  old  fogies  or  an  occasional  club  glorying  in 
its  gaudy  uniform.  Down  the  soft  bridle-paths 
pattered  a  few  horsemen  and  horsewomen,  but 
their  hour  is  the  early  morning.  Everywhere 
were  the  mounted  police  with  their  beautiful 
steeds,  very  gentle  and  affectionate  till  a  run- 
away dashes  by  to  endanger  the  lives  of  children 
and  women.  Then  these  horses  are  frenzied 
with  their  responsibility  and  will  run  down  the 
maddest  equine  maniac. 

There  were  miles  of  benches,  not  one  empty. 
New  York  and  his  family  were  taking  the  airing. 
On  a  few  meadows  crowds  of  children  were  play- 
ing, though  the  Sabbath  laws  prevented  the  mul- 
titudinous games  of  baseball,  football,  croquet 
and  lawn  tennis  that  reign  in  the  summer  week- 
days. Nor  was  there  a  band  concert,  such  as 
resounds  through  leafy  aisles  on  summer  after- 
noons. The  Zoo  and  the  Carousel  were  packed 
with  old  and  young,  desperate  after  amusement 
and  swinging  high  in  air  or  whirling  on  the 
wheezy  merry-go-round.  The  donkey-people 
and  the  goat-carriage-folk  were  driving  a  furious 
trade  in  children's  pennies,  and  the  refreshment 
stands  were  dispensing  soda  water,  peanuts  and 
indigestion  recklessly.  A  certain  toll  was  col- 


120  abe  IReal  IRew 

lected  from  every  peanut  bag  by  the  flickering 
squirrels,  the  only  New  Yorkers  who  do  not  snub 
strangers. 

In  the  broad  light  of  day  Miss  Collis  could 
now  see  the  ghastly  population  of  ill-made  statu- 
ary that  disgraces  this  otherwise  ideal  pleasure 
paradise — Sir  Walter  Scott  looking  as  if  he  had 
eaten  too  little  haggis,  and  Robbie  Burns  as  if 
he  had  eaten  too  much.  With  three  or  four  ex- 
ceptions these  works  are  worse  than  bad,  and 
the  exceptions  are  nothing  wonderful,  save  the 
statue  of  Sherman  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  entrance 
and  the  rostral  column  at  the  Eighth  Avenue 
entrance  presented  by  the  Italians  in  memory 
of  Columbus. 

In  their  drive  they  passed  the  beautiful  vista 
of  the  Mall  leading  to  the  Bethesda  fountain, 
the  lakes  with  their  bicycle  swan  boats,  and 
the  Reservoir,  as  well  as  "Cleopatra's  Needle," 
so-called  because  it  is  not  a  needle  and  was  not 
Cleopatra's.  It  is  a  single,  sixty-nine  foot  block 
of  red  syenite,  weighing  443,000  pounds.  It  was 
quarried  at  Assouan  in  Nubia,  and  began  its 
life  with  a  seven-hundred  mile  jaunt  down  the 
Nile  to  Heliopolis,  where  Tehutimes  (or  Thoth- 
mes)  III.  set  it  up  with  its  twin  before  a 
temple  about  a  hundred  and  sixty  centuries 
before  Christ.  About  13  B.C.,  in  the  time  of 
Augustus,  the  Romans  carried  the  two  obel- 
isks to  Alexandria.  In  1877  one  of  them  was 
sent  to  London.  The  Khedive  then  presented 


Sunbap  in 


121 


the  other  to  the  United  States,  whose  navy 
brought  it  across  in  a  specially  modeled  ship 
at  the  expense  of  W.  H.  Vanderbilt.  The  crabs 
that  support  the  corners  are  casts  made  in  the 
Brooklyn  Navy  Yard  from  the  remaining  two 
Roman  originals,  now  in  the  Metropolitan 
Museum. 

From  the  Park  De  Peyster  directed  the  car- 
riage into  Seventy-second  Street,  its  broad  space 


SUNDAY    NIGHT   AMUSEMENTS 


filled  with  glittering  vehicles  and  its  sides  lined 
with  handsome  residences;  thence  into  River- 
side Drive,  which,  losing  the  poetry  of  its  mid- 
night mystery,  reveled  in  unexpected  daytime 
splendor,  with  its  great  walls,  its  terraces,  all  its 
magnificence,  and,  on  the  eastern  side,  its  miles 
of  proud  fa9ades.  For  the  facade  is  about  all 
the  architect  can  show  in  this  New  York,  where 
lawns  are  almost  unknown  and  only  the  rich- 


122  £be  iReal  1Rew  JOorfc 

est  of  the  rich  can  afford  a  side  window  and  a 
blade  of  grass. 

In  the  day-glow  the  Hudson  still  sweeps  ma- 
jestic, the  Palisades  loom  in  primeval  rugged- 
ness,  till  they  shut  in  the  view  far  into  the  north, 
and  Riverside  Park  remains,  as  at  night,  the 
noblest  driveway  in  all  the  world. 

The  pellucid  air  and  the  royal  sky  gave  the 
last  word  of  benediction  and  kept  De  Peyster 
and  his  guests  abroad  till  the  early  evening  sur- 
prised them.  Calverly,  who  had  known  little  of 
city  sunsets  save  the  baleful  yellow  or  the  splashy 
red  of  London,  was  made  almost  a  poet  as  he  be- 
held the  ribbons  of  scarlet  and  cerise,  the  clouds 
of  rose-madder  and  the  furnaces  of  molten  rubies 
glowing  in  a  perfect  blend  on  an  apple-green 
sky,  while  the  twilight  shadows  softened  the  Pali- 
sades into  ghost-mountains  veiled  in  heliotrope. 

Then  home  again  to  dress  for  dinner.  This 
was  the  Sunday  night  event— the  diner  de  luxe 
at  Sherry's — where  the  fashionables,  leaving 
their  homes,  flock  to  jostle  elbows  round  little 
candle-lit  tables  and  feast  on  the  ultimate  lux- 
uries of  table  d'hotage. 

After  dinner,  to  Carnegie  Hall,  founded  by 
its  namesake  in  1890,  costing  over  $2,000,000, 
and  seating  3,000  people,  as  well  as  housing  a 
theatre  for  amateurs  in  its  basement,  two 
smaller  music-halls,  many  lodge-rooms,  a 
restaurant  and  a  great  array  of  studios. 

This  is  the  home  of  the  New  York  Philhar- 


Sunfca?  in  Gown  123 

monic  Orchestra  and  of  the  Oratorio,  the  Musi- 
cal Art,  and  many  another  society.  Here  all 
the  great  visitors  of  the  foreign  music  world 
have  reveled  in  their  triumphs  and  the  amazing 
sums  gathered  at  the  box-office.  Paderewski, 
Rosenthal,  Ysaye,  Kubelik,  Sembrich,  Patti, 
Lehmann,  Schumann-Heink — what  famed  in- 
strumentalist or  vocalist  that  has  been  lured 
hither  has  failed  to  recognize  Carnegie  Hall  as 
the  Parnassus  of  New  York  music  ? 

On  this  night,  Richard  Strauss,  the  sachem 
of  living  composers,  was  producing  for  the  first 
time  one  of  his  most  ambitious  works.  Where 
he  swung  his  baton,  an  array  of  the  field-mar- 
shals of  music  had  brandished  their  staves- 
Thomas,  Seidl,  Tchaikowski,  Nikisch,  the  Dam- 
rosches,  Paur  and  Gericke.  In  this  very  sea- 
son the  Philharmonic  Society  had  imported  a 
new  conductor  for  each  of  its  concerts,  and  the 
subscribers  to  the  series  had  heard  Europe's 
greatest  leaders — Colonne,  Weingartner,  Safan- 
off,  Kogel,  Wood — besides  the  American,  Victor 
Herbert. 

Combining  with  the  smaller  recitals  heard  in 
Mendelssohn  Hall,  and  the  world-ransacking 
galaxies  that  shine  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House,  it  is  undeniable  that — whatsoever  pov- 
erty it  may  show  in  creative  music — in  the  per- 
formance of  the  best  music  by  the  best  exec- 
utants, New  York  is  the  musical  capital,  as  it 
is  the  commercial  capital,  of  the  world. 


124 


After  the  concert  De  Peyster  and  his  guests 
drove  for  supper  to  the  glittering  Cafe  des 
Beaux  -  Arts,  where  Calverly,  with  a  French 
menu  before  him,  felt  more  at  home. 

But  he  broke  out  with  a  sudden  and  embar- 
rassing query  : 

"I  say,  now,  don't  cousins  in  America  call 
each  other  by  their  Christian  names?" 

De  Peyster  and  Miss  Collis  looked  at  each 
other  in  terror.  Both  knew  what  he  was  driv- 
ing at,  but  neither  knew  the  other's  first  name. 
After  an  awkward  pause,  De  Peyster's  sister 
saved  the  day  with  a  gentle  inspiration. 

"Not  before  strangers,"  she  explained. 

"Well,  I'm  not  strangers,"  protested  Cal- 
verly, growing  very  friendly  in  the  fumes  of 
wine.  De  Peyster  calmed  him  with  a  word, 
and  excited  Miss  Collis  with  a  look. 

"After  this,  if  you  insist,  we'll  use  the  first 


name." 


Later,  as  he  bade  her  good-night  at  the  door 
of  her  hotel,  De  Peyster  said,  quietly : 

"By  the  way,  Miss  Collis,  what  is  your  ^first 
name?" 

"  Myrtle." 

"Mine's  Gerald,"  said  he,  and  he  squeezed 
her  hand  more  than  cousinly  long.  As  he 
turned  away,  he  sang  out  for  Calverly 's  benefit: 

"Good-night,  Cousin  Myrtle." 

She  smiled,  rather  than  called  after  him: 

"Good-night,  Cousin  Gerald." 


CHAPTER  VII 


ASSORTED  SABBATHS THE  GOOD  SIDE  OF  NEW  YORK 

THE   CROWDED   CHURCHES THE   FREE  HOSPITALS 

ORGANIZED   CHARITIES THE    BOARD    OF    HEALTH 

BREAKFAST  IN  BED THE  SUNDAY  PAPERS THE  PER- 
SONAL COLUMN  AS  A  SECRET  POST-OFFICE THE  TAME- 
NESS  OF  A  NEW  YORK  SUNDAY THE  RAINES  LAW 

—THE  "FAMILY  ENTRANCE" — HYPOCRISY  AND  LAZI- 
NESS  QUENCHING  THE  THIRST SUNDAY  NIGHT  IN 

TOWN THE      SACRED     CONCERTS A     SURREPTITIOUS 

PRIZE-FIGHT POLICE     INTERFERENCE IN    PRISON 

PROFESSIONAL  BONDSMEN VICE  IS  EXPENSIVE 


MISS  COLLIS  was  too  tired  to  be  sur- 
prised at  the  famous  way  she  and  De 
Peyster  were  getting  along.  As  she  crawled 
wearily  into  bed  she  wondered  how,  if  New  York 
Sundays  were  so  busy,  the  people  managed  to 
live  through  the  week-days. 

And  that  was  her  Sunday  in  town,  but  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Granger's  Sabbath  was  different. 

The  poetical  Simes  felt  that  he  was  earning 
at  least  canonization  by  acting  as  an  escort  to  a 
preacher — on  Sunday  of  all  days;  but,  by  care- 
fully choosing  the  most  fashionable  churches, 
where  crowds  were  thickest,  he  convinced  the 
good  man  from  Terre  Haute  that  New  York 
must  be  pious  indeed,  since  it  was  impossible 
for  all  its  thousand  churches  to  house  its  ardent 


126  £be  IReal 

believers,  and  he  himself  could  find  no  place  to 
worship. 

In  the  afternoon  Simes  took  him  to  some  of 
the  missions  which  rich  churches  support  in 
the  poorer  districts,  and  also  showed  him  or  de- 
scribed to  him  some  of  the  magnificent  hospi- 
tals, such  as  the  Bellevue  (a  new  Bellevue  is 
planned,  to  cost  fifteen  million  dollars),  the  New 
York,  St.  Luke's,  the  Presbyterian,  St.  Vincent's, 
the  Roosevelt  and  many  others,  where  the  poor 
receive,  free  of  charge,  the  benefit  of  the  most 
perfectly  equipped  and  scientifically  governed 
institutions  in  the  world,  and  whither  the  hurt 
or  the  sick  are  rushed  in  ambulances  at  any 
hour  of  day  or  night.  The  great  Hebrew  Mount 
Sinai  is  the  latest  to  be  completed.  It  has  been 
called  the  Waldorf  of  hospitals.  It  fills  an  en- 
tire block  at  One  Hundredth  Street  and  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  includes  ten  connected  buildings 
holding  four  hundred  and  eighty  patients.  The 
heating  and  ventilating  apparatus  alone  cost 
$250,000;  the  air  is  taken  from  high  above  the 
street  for  purity's  sake,  warmed  by  radiators, 
filtered  through  cheesecloth  and  later  expelled 
into  the  street  as  far  as  possible  from  its  orig- 
inal source.  Even  the  rooms  are  built  with 
round  corners  to  make  cleaning  easier.  Each  of 
the  buildings  has  its  sun  parlor  on  the  roof,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  conceive  any  device  that  has 
been  overlooked  for  the  comfort  and  protection 
of  everything  but  the  poor  microbes. 


Sabbatbs 


127 


A   NEW    YORKER 


In  the  evening,  poet  and  parson  strolled  about 
listening  to  street-corner  preachers  and  looking 
at  the  superb  buildings  of  the  Charity  Organi- 
zation Society,  with  its  humane 
pawnshop  and  its  penny  provi- 
dent fund;  the  newsboys' 
homes;  the  Mills  Hotels,  where 
decent  lodgings  may  be  had 
for  almost  nothing;  the  Uni- 
(  JV^  ^^  versity  Settlements  in  the  slums, 
where  good  men  and  women 
try  to  plant  happiness  among 
the  unhappy;  the  palatial 
homes  of  the  Societies  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Chil- 
dren and  to  Animals,  each  with  its  own  police, 
saving  the  little  people  from  vicious  parents  and 
rescuing  horses  and  dogs  from  brutes  who  starve 
or  beat  them.  Simes  told  the  minister  of  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  Society  for  the  Suppression  of  Vice, 
which,  under  Anthony  Comstock,  makes  many 
mistakes,  but  justifies  itself  in  keeping  unspeak- 
able knaves  from  peddling  obscenity  to  school 
children;  of  the  various  societies  for  protecting 
ignorant  immigrants  or  trustful  visitors  from  con- 
fidence sharks;  the  various  homes  for  providing 
fallen  women  with  an  escape  from  the  streets,  or 
rescuing  sailors  from  the  clutches  of  the  harpies  of 
the  wharves;  the  comfortable  clubs  and  gymna- 
siums of  the  Young  Men's  and  Young  Women's 
Christian  Associations;  the  Legal  Aid  Society, 


128  Gbe  IReal  mew  JPorfc 

which  gives  free  counsel  to  the  oppressed  poor; 
the  Actors'  Fund,  with  its  nearby  home  for  aged 
and  forgotten  favorites;  the  numerous  protective 
associations  organized  by  foreigners  for  their  own 
kith  and  kin,  such  as  the  Fraterna  Italiana,  the 
Cercle  Fran^'ais  1'Amitie,  the  Irish  Emigrant 
Society,  the  Jewish  Immigrants'  Protective  So- 
ciety, the  United  Hebrew  Charities,  the  Swiss 
Home;  the  numberless  circulating  libraries,  the 
manual  training  schools  and  the  public  baths. 

To  refresh  his  client's  fatigue,  Simes  took  him 
to  one  of  the  owl-wagons  kept  by  the  Church 
Temperance  Society,  where  all  night  the  best 
possible  pie  and  sterilized  milk,  surpassing  cof- 
fee and  well-cooked  foods  are  sold  as  an  offset  to 
saloons.  He  described  Nathan  Straus's  booths 
for  dispensing  sterilized  milk  to  the  poor; 
the  Herald's  Free  Ice  Fund,  that  carries  a 
cooling  touch  to  the  Lazaruses  parching  in  the 
hell  of  summer  slums;  the  World's  Sick  Babies' 
Fund;  Life's  Farm,  where  tiny  wretches  get  back 
from  Stepmother  Street  to  Mother  Nature;  the 
crowded  steamboats  that  drift  down  the  Bay 
with  bands  playing  to  mobs  of  poverty's  own 
children;  the  recreation  piers,  with  their  music 
and  their  restful  outlook  on  starlit  waters;  the 
parks  that  stud  the  tenement  swamps  with  green 
bowers;  even  the  societies  that  place  boxes  in  all 
the  stations  for  discarded  newspapers  and  mag- 
azines that  will  entertain  the  poor  and  the  sick; 
the  little  charity  boxes  in  every  store  for  the  sake 


THE  OLD  CONEY  ISLAND 


Hasorteb  Sabbatba  129 

of  unprotected  children;  the  annual  Thanksgiv- 
ing and  Christmas  feasts  for  thousands  of  the 
poor,  for  whose  sake  Salvation  Army  soldiers 
and  Volunteers  dressed  as  Santa  Glaus  stand  on 
frigid  corners  gathering  coin  into  big  kettles. 

Simes  waxed  eloquent  on  the  great  merciful 
institutions  for  the  reform  of  the  ill-begun  youth, 
the  care  of  the  insane,  the  sick  and  the  orphans ; 
the  welcome  and  inspection  of  the  steerage- 
loads  of  human  cattle,  refugees  from  foreign 
hardship;  the  scientific  penology  of  those  whose 
disease  is  crime — noble  works  to  which  six  whole 
islands— Ellis,  Ward's,  Randall's,  Blackwell's, 
Hart's  and  North  Brother — are  devoted/ 

Enormous  sums  are  spent  every  year  by  the 
city  on  its  Board  of  Health,  which  coerces  rent- 
racking  landlords  into  obeying  sanitary  laws, 
keeps  the  poor  vaccinated,  the  chimneys  smoke- 
less, the  streets  immaculate,  the  incoming  ships 
quarantined;  keeps  the  children  schooled  and 
free  from  factory  slavery;  cleans  the  streets  at 
enormous  expense;  has  the  Croton  watez*  supply 
analyzed  every  few  hours  and  kept  pure  even 
at  the  cost  of  buying  and  burning  down  trouble- 
some villages — all  for  the  better  health  and  com- 
fort of  the  public. 

When  Simes  led  the  Rev.  Mr.  Granger  back 
to  his  boarding-house,  he  was  too  much  ex- 
hausted to  regret  that  his  explorations  thus 
far  had  brought  him  no  new  material  for  his 

sermon  on  "The  Modern  Babylon  Where  Mam- 
9 


130  Cbe  IReal  mew 

mon  Alone  Is  God."  His  head  was  aching  with 
the  attempt  to  comprehend  the  millions  on  mil- 
lions poured  out  year  after  year  by  New  York's 
high  and  lowly  in  the  battle  with  misery,  the 
crusade  of  sweetness  and  light.  His  heart 
ached,  too,  with  the  expansion  of  brother-love 
at  seeing  a  giant's  strength  so  consecrated  to 
the  labors  of  mercy. 

But  there  are  as  many  sabbaths  in  every  Sun- 
day as  there  are  people  alive.  Mr.  A.  J.  Joyce's 
Sunday  was  all  his  own.  Easter  parades, 
church  services  and  charities  were  not  the  line 
of  goods  he  was  carrying.  He  slept  late,  and, 
just  for  an  experiment,  had  his  breakfast  served 
in  his  bed.  He  had  often  heard  of  that  Parisian 
custom,  and  now  that  he  could  reach  the  an- 
nunciator without  crawling  out,  it  pleased  him 
to  press  the  indicator  at  the  dishes  named  on 
the  dial.  Soon  a  waiter  came  in  with  a  tray 
loaded  to  the  gunwales  and  carrying  enough 
provender  to  keep  a  poor  family  a  week.  He 
set  the  tray  on  Joyce's  knees  and  vanished. 

"They  manage  this  eating  business  better  in 
France,"  said  Joyce,  with  a  new  and  cosmo- 
politan joy.  He  decided  to  take  his  breakfast 
so  every  morning  in  spite  of  all  Chicago.  In  a 
short  time  he  had  filled  his  bed  with  surprisingly 
sharp  bread  crumbs,  his  calves  got  a  cramp  and, 
as  Bill  Nye  said,  "his  feet  had  gone  to  sleep 
one  by  one."  Then  he  managed  to  empty  half 
a  cup  of  scalding  coffee  into  the  breast  pocket  of 


Sabbatbs 


131 


his  pyjamas.  He  drew  up  his  knees  quickly  and 
the  tray — well,  they  only  charged  him  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  damages. 

"After  this,"  said  Joyce,  "when  I  try  a  French 
breakfast,  I'll  put  on  my  raincoat  and  sit  in 
the  bathtub." 

When  he  was  finally  bathed  and  dressed,  he 
called  for  all  the  Sunday 
papers.  There  were  various 
important  events  to  read  up— 
especially  the  latest  score  in  the 
Russo-Japanese  game,  and  the 
latest  battle  between  the  Chi- 
cagos  and  the  New  York 
"Giants."  Joyce  felt  lonely 
this  morning.  He  knew  almost 
no  one  in  town  except  the  re- 
porter. He  decided  that  there 
ought  to  be  some  means  for 
arranging  meetings  between 
lonely  out-of-towners  and  con- 
genial outsiders.  With  a  sigh 
of  regret  he  turned  to  his 
papers.  His  eye  fell  on  the  front  page  of  the 
Herald.  He  never  got  past  that.  The  first 
column  of  the  first  page  was  marked  the  Personal 
Column. 

Joyce  apologized  to  New  York.  Here  was 
just  what  he  was  looking  for,  a  clearing  house 
for  flirtations,  a  letter-box  for  those  who  had 
reasons  for  wanting  the  secrecy  of  publicity. 


GAR^ON!" 


132  £be  IReal  mew 

Here  were  the  advertisements  with  special  rea- 
sons for  not  appearing  in  the  crowded  ordinary 
columns  of  "Furnished  Rooms  To  Let."  Ard 
along  with  them  were  tempting  baits  for  the 
gulls,  offers  of  $20,000  profit  for  a  $200  invest- 
ment, offers  of  loan  without  security,  promises 
of  immediate  obesity  cure,  guarantees  of  beauty 
in  six  weeks,  hair  fertilizers  proffered  by  bald- 
headed  business  men;  brilliant  displays  and 
dazzling  promises  of  astrologers,  clairvoyants, 
palmists  and  other  gamesters  who,  if  they  could 
do  for  themselves  one-tenth  of  what  they  prom- 
ise to  strangers,  would  oust  Pierpont  Morgan 
from  his  pre-eminence,  make  doctors  useless, 
law  courts  unnecessary,  Congress  a  waste  of  wit 
and  the  police  force  an  idle  ornament.  Joyce 
sat  in  gaping  admiration  of  the  fearlessness  of 
men  who  dared  to  publish,  and  of  the  beatific 
trustfulness  of  those  who  believe,  such  promises 
as  he  read  here. 

"If  these  things  are  true,"  he  mused,  "they 
give  the  biggest  dollar's  worth  ever  known." 

But  he  was  not  interested  in  unveiling  his 
future.  The  present  was  troublesome  enough. 

He  called  up  Blake  and  begged  the  reporter 
to  take  him  off  his  own  hands.  Blake's  consent 
came  back  in  a  still  small  voice;  that  was  the 
only  way  Joyce  ever  heard  a  still  small  voice- 
over  the  telephone. 

Blake  proposed  a  luncheon  at  Joyce's  ex- 
pense. But  what  to  do  afterward  was  the 


Hssorteb  Sabbatbs  133 

problem.  They  walked  along  the  quiet  streets 
where  all  the  shops  were  closed  except  the  cigar 
booths  and  apothecary  shops  with  their  foreign 
names,  "Deutsche  Apotheke"  and  "Pharmacie 
Fran£aise";  and  where  the  prescription  clerk 
stands  ready  to  confound  prescriptions  in  three 
languages.  But  to-day  everything  was  a  drug 
on  the  market,  except  soda  water,  postage 
stamps  and  the  directory. 

Joyce  grew  bluer  and  bluer,  till  he  matched  the 
beautiful  sky  above. 

"I'd  kind  o'  like  to  see  a  baseball  game,"  he 
sighed. 

"Not  in  New  York,"  said  Blake;  "we're  too 
good.  You  can  find  amateurs  playing  in  vacant 
lots,  but  the  baseball  grounds  are  empty.  They 
are  trying  to  break  over  the  old  blue  laws,  but 
it's  a  hard  fight.  You  can  play  golf,  though,  on 
the  public  grounds  at  Van  Cortlandt  Park. 
The  crowds  are  so  big  that  every  time  you  drive 
you  kill  a  caddy,  and  every  time  you  try  to  hole 
out  you  get  a  knockout  with  a  golf  ball  back  of 
the  ear.  There  are  so  many  fat  women  trying  to 
reduce  flesh  that  they  constitute  extra  bunkers 
all  over  the  place.  And  it  is  one  of  the  rules 
that  if  you  lay  out  the  man  who  is  ahead  of 
you,  you  must  either  play  from  his  uncon- 
scious form,  or,  if  he  is  lying  on  top  of  the 
ball,  you  can  roll  him  over  and  lose  one  shot. 
Accident  policies  do  not  apply  to  Van  Cortlandt 
Park." 


134  Gbe  IRcal  mew  i?orfc 

"Sounds  a  little  strenuous  for  Sunday,"  said 
Joyce. 

''Well,  then,  there  are  the  private  golf  clubs 
within  a  half  hour's  ride  or  more — beautiful 
Ardsley  up  the  Hudson,  Richmond  Hill  on 
Long  Island,  two  or  three  on  Staten  Island  and 
several  in  Jersey.  Or  you  can  go  to  one  of 
the  Hunt  Clubs  in  Westchester  or  on  Long 
Island,  though  they  usually  run  Saturdays.  You 
can  practise  polo.  You  can  take  your  private 
yacht  from  Larchmont  or  New  Rochelle  or  from 
some  of  the  clubhouses  along  Riverside  Drive. 
You  can  run  down  to  the  tall  pines  and  taller 
prices  of  Lake  wood. 

"In  the  summer  everybody  gets  out  of  town 
to  some  of  the  hundred  beaches  nearby  and 
sweats  in  a  train  or  gets  caught  in  an  undertow 
and  carried  to  Newfoundland.  But  in  the  win- 
ter, Sunday  in  New  York  is  pretty  tame  for 
the  stranger.  Most  people  go  calling  or  to  the 
Metropolitan  Sunday  night  concert." 

"Pretty  dead  old  town,  New  York,  on  Sun- 
day," wailed  Joyce,  in  that  final  ennui  which 
weighs  on  the  stranger  in  a  city  more  than  on 
the  man  lost  in  Mojave. 

"Were  you  ever  in  London  on  Sunday?" 
asked  Blake.  When  Joyce  shook  his  head 
dolefully,  Blake  went  on:  "Well,  if  New  York 
is  dead  on  Sunday,  London  is  cremated." 

At  this  moment  the  French  twins  ap- 
peared. Before  Blake  and  Joyce  could  dodge 


Hesorteb  Sabbatbs  135 

each  was  in  the  embrace  of  a  twin.  With  some 
difficulty  their  half-Nelsons  were  broken,  and 
Blake,  looking  about,  saw  with  relief  that  no 
policeman  was  in  sight. 

" Dieu  merci!"  exclaimed  Gaston,  "you  have 
sev  our  life." 

"1  apologize,"  said  Blake. 

"I  could  kiss  you  for  joy,"  cried  Alphonse. 

"Not  for  a  million!"  said  Joyce,  squaring  off. 

"  S acre  nom  de  nom  d'un  chien!"  wailed  Gas- 
ton,  "  but  is  it  that  zeesa  is  a  city  or  ze  desairt  de 
Sahara  ?" 

"I  have  thirst  like  a  chameau  wiz  six  estom- 
acs.  Pourquoi  is  it  zat  il  ny  a  pas  one  littla 
cafe  on  ze  pave — not  a — as  you  say— not  a  one 
damn!" 

"That  I  had  leave  not  my  dear  Paree!"  wailed 
Gaston,  and  Alphonse,  putting  his  handkerchief 
to  his  eyes,  tried  to  lean  on  Blake;  but  the  lat- 
ter was  no  longer  there. 

"I  go  into  a  pharmacien,"  explained  Gaston, 
with  dramatic  pantomime  that  began  to  draw 
a  crowd,  "I  say,  'Give  me  of  to  drink,  I  beg 
of  it,  I  go  to  die.'  He  ask  me  if  I  scream,  so  I 
scream.  He  take  a  tall  verre  like  the  Tour  d'Eif- 
fel,  he  turn  a  littla  wheel  and  a  syrup  come.  He 
put  in  of  the  glace  — 

"He  put  in  glass!"  exclaimed  Joyce.  "Why, 
that's  used  to  kill  rats." 

""We  are  a  rat,  then,"  Alphonse  broke  in. 
"Then  he  turn  anawther  littla  wheel  like  a  auto- 


136  abe  IRcal  1ttew  JPorfc 

mobile.  Out  come  a  fine  water  wiz  hissing— 
s-s-s-s-s !  Comme  pa!  Zen  anawther  wheel  and 
bubbles  like  the  soap  in  a  pipe." 

And  Alphonse  and  Gaston  both  bubbled. 

"There  is  a  young  ladies  who  also  have  ze 
same.  We  make  imitation.  We  eat  water  wiz 
a  spoon  and  drink  of  ze  glace.  Comme  cest 
drole.  But  when  we  feenish  we  have  more  thirst 


as  never." 


It  made  Joyce  thirsty,  too,  to  hear  this  account 
of  a  national  beverage.  He  dashed  for  a  saloon 
door. 

"Locked!"  he  exclaimed,  like  an  entrapped 
heroine  of  melodrama.  "I've  read  of  your  New 
York  'dry  Sundays.'  Is  it  possible?" 

"New  York  is  the  victim  of  the  Raines 
law,  as  of  various  other  laws  drawn  up  at 
Albany  by  rural  members  who  try  to  save  us 
from  perdition  by  making  our  laws  for  us. 
But  where  there's  a  law  there's  a  loophole. 
Look!" 

He  led  Joyce  to  the  window.  The  little  doors 
in  the  woodwork  were  open.  The  usual  line  of 
thirsty  mankind  was  conspicuously  absent.  Not 
a  drinker  was  there. 

"But  see,"  cried  Joyce;  "I  see  a  man  in  shirt 
sleeves  behind  the  bar.  And  he  is  mixing  some- 
thing in  a  tall  glass.  Ow!  he's  putting  in  a  dash 
of  bitters.  Help!  help!  he's  stirring  the 
cracked  ice  with  a  long  spoon.  He's  pouring  it 
out.  There  comes  a  waiter.  He  takes  the 


Ssaorteb  Sabbatbs 


137 


glasses  on  a  tray.     He  disappears  into  the  back 
room.     Quick,  lead  me  to  it!" 

Round  the  corner  he  darted,  followed  by  the 
representatives  of  the  free  Press  and  the  French 
Republic.  A  double  storm  door  marked  "Fam- 


ily Entrance" 
It  was  locked. 
But  Blake 
and  the  rear 
away  yielded, 
yield  to  the 
led  his  squad 
room  filled  with 


was 
He 


there.     He  tried  it. 

almost  fainted, 
went  around, 
door  two  feet 
How  doors 
Press!  He 
into  a  large 
tables  sur- 


A    SUNDAY    OUTING 


rounded  by  men  of  all  types  and  a  few  women 
of  one  type. 

They  gave  their  orders.  A  waiter  slammed  a 
sandwich  before  them. 

"What's  that?"  said  Joyce. 

"That  is  a  meal,"  said  Blake.  "Drinks  can 
be  served  on  Sundays  only  with  a  meal." 

"Must  we  eat  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  Rollo.     The  waiter  would  expire  if 


138  Gbe  IRcal  IRcw 

you  did.  The  law  simply  says  that  a  meal  must 
accompany  the  drink.  It  did  not  say  that  the 
drinkist  must  eat  the  meal.  Nor  did  it  say  what 
a  meal  consisted  of.  Merciful  judges  have  de- 
cided that  one  sandwich  satisfies  the  law.  If 
you  ate  it  you  would  find  it  more  than  filling, 
because  it  is  probably  of  rubber  or  celluloid. 
Thus  are  the  morals  of  New  York  preserved  by 
the  kind  Senators  from  Watertown  and  Her- 
kimer." 

44 But  how  it  is  of  hypocrisy!"  said  Gaston. 
"In  Paree  we  sit  out  of  doors  in  ze  sunlight,  at 
ze  littla  tables  wiz  leddies  and  gentlaman  who 
do  not  forget  zey  are  leddies  and  gentlaman,  for 
zey  are  where  tout  le  monde  observe.  But  in 
Amerique  you  go  in  a  dark  chambre  and  look 
sad  and  ashamed  and  go  on  ze  street  only  when 
you  are — how  you  say? — dronk!" 

"  Oh,  but  you  forget,"  said  Blake,  "  that  Amer- 
ica is  virtuous  and  Paris  is  wicked.  And  our 
preachers  would  rather  have  purgatory  than  that 
horrible,  incoherent  thing  known  as  the  '  Conti- 
nental Sunday.' ' 

The  Frenchmen  had  ordered  little  glasses  of 
claret  and  they  were  taking  it  very  slowly — a 
sip  every  five  minutes.  The  waiter  glared  at 
them.  Blake  explained  that  in  America  one 
must  drink  some  strong  drinks  and  drink  them 
quickly. 

"It  is  only  on  Sundays  that  New  Yorkers  sit 
at  a  table  for  liquid  refreshments,"  he  said. 


Hssortefc  Sabbatbs  139 

"La  vie  est  breve  en  Amerique"  sighed  Gas- 
ton. 

;<Yes,  we  Yankees  die  fast  and  furious — like 
a  chicken  with  a  twisted  neck.  But  a  good  deal 
of  it  is  bluff,"  Blake  explained,  with  that  cyni- 
cism which  no  reporter  escapes.  "When  we  are 
not  rushed  we  pretend  to  be.  An  American 
wouldn't  dare  be  seen  loafing  at  a  sidewalk  cafe; 
it  would  ruin  his  reputation  as  a  business  man. 
A  Frenchman  will  sit  down  at  a  sunlit  table  and 
spend  half  an  hour  over  a  demi-litre  of  Munich 
beer,  and  then  go  cheerfully  about  his  business. 
An  American  will  hang  over  a  wet  bar  in  a  dark, 
close  room  for  two  hours,  drink  six  or  eight  high- 
balls and  go  back  to  his  office  with  a  woolly 
brain.  But  that's  because  we  are  an  industri- 
ous and  virtuous  nation  and  you  people  are  lazy 
and  vicious." 

Joyce  was  almost  as  angry  as  the  waiter  at 
seeing  the  evil  foreigners  dawdle  over  their  vice. 
So  he  insisted  on  introducing  them  to  a  series  of 
strangely  named  compounds,  beginning  with  a 
highball — which  Gaston  called  an  "eyeball"  be- 
cause it  superinduced  strabismus.  This  was 
followed  by  a  dry  Martini  with  a  stuffed  olive,  a 
gin  rickey,  a  sherry  flip  and  a  Tom  Collins. 

Gaston  was  the  earlier  of  the  two  to  succumb, 
and  the  room  began  to  remind  him  of  the  Ferris 
wheel  which  he  had  seen  at  the  Paris  Exposi- 
tion. Alphonse,  wishing  to  learn  the  mechan- 
ism of  this  strange  chemistry,  was  aided  to  the 


140  Gbe  iReal  1Rcw  l?orfc 

door  of  the  barroom  by  Joyce.  Embracing  the 
casement  he  watched  the  deft  figure  in  snowy 
vestments  at  .his  alchemy.  The  left  hand  held 
a  tall  glass  into  which  the  swift  right,  darting 
here  and  there  to  bottles  and  flagons  of  divers 
shapes,  poured,  tossed  or  decanted  in  long, 
straight  streams  numberless  disguises  of  alcohol. 
Then  a  scoop  of  shaved  ice,  the  tinkle  of  dex- 
terous stirring,  the  toss  of  a  maraschino  cherry 
or  a  twist  of  golden  lemon  peel,  an4  the  liqueur 
gurgled  into  small  shell  glasses  for  the  titillation 
of  the  glossal  papillae  and  the  consternation  of 
the  duodenum.  Joyous  deglutition  and  painful 
endosmosis  did  the  rest. 

"Ze  gentlaman  is  at  zhe  shem  time  a  grand 
artishte  and  a  mushicien  d'un  talent  de-hic- 
licieux.  He  desherve  le  decoration  du  cordon- 
hic-bleu.  Vive  le  barkeepair!" 

Having  now  satisfied  that  curious  American 
passion  for  compelling  other  people  to  drink  more 
than  they  desire,  Blake  called  a  cab,  for  which 
Joyce  paid,  and  the  twins  went  gloriously  home, 
Alphonse  chanting  "La  Marseillaise,"  Gaston, 
with  a  finer  courtesy,  roaring  the  "Stair- 
Bengel  Spannaire." 

Sunday  afternoon  dragged  its  slow  length 
along  like  a  wounded  snake,  and  the  evening 
confronted  Joyce.  His  face  brightened. 

"Thank  heaven,  we  can  go  to  a  theatre  some- 
where." 

"On  Sunday?"  exclaimed  Blake.     "In  Chi- 


Hseorteb  Sabbaths  HI 

cago  or  Tsintsinatti  or  New  Orleans  or  St.  Louis, 
yes;  but  not  in  New  York.  How  often  must  I 
tell  you  that  New  York  is  virtuous  ?  There  are 
a  few  so-called  sacred  concerts  of  vaudeville,  but 
they  are  sadder  than  a  village  prayer-meeting." 

"Damn  your  virtues!  What,  oh,  what  shall 
I  do  ?"  wailed  Joyce. 

"We  might  go  to  a  prize-fight." 

"A  prize-fight!"  Joyce  exclaimed /brightening 
again.  "I  thought  it  was  forbidden  altogether 
in  New  York,  even  on  weekdays." 

"Lots  of  things  are  forbidden,"  said  Blake. 
"But  there  are  several  little  arguments  on  to- 
night. One  of  them  is  at  Columbia  Hall,  on 
upper  First  Avenue;  another  is  at  a  private  gym- 
nasium, where  two  professionals,  one  from  Aus- 
tralia, are  to  meet;  the  referee  is  to  be  an  ex- 
champion  of  England.  You'll  see  some  of  the 
best  known  brokers,  lawyers,  society  leaders, 
saloon-keepers  and  gamblers  there,  and  if  the 
police  don't  get  round  too  early,  it  will  be  good 
sport.  But  there  is  another  fight  near  the  East 
River  and  Seventh  Street,  in  the  old  Dry  Dock 
district.  It  will  be  more  picturesque." 

In  good  season,  Joyce  and  Blake  were  winding 
their  way  through  streets  of  such  darkness  that 
Joyce  felt  a  bit  uneasy  at  meeting  their  few  but 
ugly  denizens.  Over  a  low-browed  saloon  was 
a  "Young  Men's  Reform  Club,"  and  up  the 
stairs  several  men  were  hastening.  At  the 
stairway  stood  a  policeman.  As  Joyce  and 


142  £be  IReal  IRew  l!>orfc 

Blake  approached  they  heard  him  stop  a  rough- 
looking  youth,  and  say: 

"  What's  all  this  crowd  up  to  ?" 

"It's  de  annual  election  of  de  club,  you  mut. 
It's  a  free  country,  I  guess  yes;  ain't  it?" 
growled  the  youth. 

"I  guess  it  is,"  said  the  policeman,  idly  flick- 
ing his  locust  by  the  cord. 

The  annual  election  was  about  to  begin  when 
Joyce  and  Blake  entered.  There  was  a  poll- 
tax  of  ten  dollars  a  head,  which  Blake  ex- 
plained and  Joyce  paid.  The  two  candidates 
were  stripped  to  the  waist  and  wore  young  pil- 
lows on  their  hands.  The  polling  place  was 
surrounded  with  a  rope.  A  campaign  manager 
came  forward  and  introduced  the  nominees. 

"  Kine  friends,  we  are  goin'  to  try  to  pull  off  a 
neat  little  bit  of  de  manly  art  to-night.  It's  got 
to  be  kep'  confidential.  I  needn't  tell  youse  dat 
de  cops  is  on  de  dead  lookout,  an'  hones'  sport 
ain't  gotter  chanst  in  a  hayseed  place  like  New 
York.  Dere  can't  be  no  noise,  nor  nuttin'- 
not  even  a  gong.  Anybody  dat  cheers  gets  trun 
out.  It's  up  to  youse  to  behave  like  gents,  or  de 
whole  push  will  be  pulled.  Trus'in'  dese  few 
woids  will  be  took  to  heart,  I  have  de  honor  to 
interduce  to  youse  two  of  de  gamest  bantams 
ever.  Dey  is  truckdrivers  in  de  daytime,  but  in 
deir  veins  is  de  blood  of  Jawn  L.  One  of  dem 
tinks  de  odder  done  him  doit  in  a  matter  of  in- 
fringin'  on  his  rowt.  So  dey  comes  here  to  argy 


Hseorteb  Sabbatbs  143 

it  out  fine  and  fancy.  Foist,  I'll  present  Bobby 
Hannin,  known  as  Kid  Corbett,  Junior,  who 
looks  like  a  comin'  champeen — stan'  up,  Bobby. 
In  de  odder  corner  you  see  Harold  Fitzroy,  de 
T'oroughbred  T'underbolt.  Shake  han's,  boys, 
an'  git  to  yer  corners.  An'  now  in  conclusion, 
aujence,  remember  dat  mum's  de  woid." 

The  audience  drew  a  deep  breath  and  leaned 
forward. 

The  two  human  game-cocks  clasped  mit- 
tens and  broke  away,  circling  about  each  other 
with  arms  churning  the  air  like  propeller  screws. 
There  was  a  deal  of  feinting  for  an  opening  and 
much  ingenious  foot- work;  but  not  a  blow  was 
struck.  It  was  magnificent,  but  it  was  not  war. 
One  of  the  spectators  growled : 

"Git  to  it,  you  white-livered  babies,  git  to  it!" 

The  rest  said  "Hush!"  in  a  loud  tone.  Then 
there  was  a  sudden  deafening  crash.  Each  of 
the  fighters  felt  that  he  had  been  knocked  out 
and  one  of  them  fell  to  the  ground  and  listened 
for  the  count.  But  it  was  only  a  policeman  who 
forced  open  a  door  and  said : 

"Sorry  to  distoib  you,  gents,  but  the  captain 
is  downstairs  with  his  friend,  Black  Maria." 

Someone  turned  out  the  lights.  There  was  a 
dash  in  all  directions.  Joyce  was  trampled, 
kicked  and  finally  bunted  through  a  window  left 
unguarded  by  the  police.  A  short  fall  brought 
him  to  the  roof  of  a  shed.  In  the  dim,  sweet 
starlight  he  saw  various  ghosts  disappearing 


144  £be  iRcal  mew  |?orft 

over  the  edge.  He  followed,  and  eventually 
reached  the  ground.  Then  he  ran.  He  saw  a 
lumber  yard  nearby.  He  started  to  climb  a 
large  pile.  It  came  down  with  a  roar  like  a 
hastily  built  apartment  house.  He  barely  es- 
caped, and  darted  for  another  refuge.  He  felt 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Is  that  you,  Blake?"  he  asked. 

"Me  name's  Rafferty,"  was  the  answer. 

Joyce  turned  and  thought  he  saw  stars.  They 
were  only  brass  buttons.  A  convoy  of  patrol 
wagons  numerous  as  a  Vladivostok  fleet  was  re- 
quired to  carry  the  sixty  prisoners  to  jail. 

Later  Joyce  made  one  of  a  long  line  in  front  of 
the  sergeant.  The  names  given  by  the  men  in 
front  of  him  sounded  like  the  roster  in  the  Hall  of 
Fame  at  New  York  University.  Among  others 
present  at  the  club  election  had  evidently  been 
various  descendants  of  the  Presidents. 

Joyce  felt  that  his  copyright  was  being  in- 
fringed. The  Presidents  had  been  used  up  as 
far  as  Andrew  Jackson  when  Joyce  was  reached. 
So  he  gave  in  the  name  of  Old  Hickory.  The 
sergeant  asked  him  if  he  had  any  friends  to  go 
on  his  bail.  Joyce  thought  of  various  acquaint- 
ances— Blake,  the  French  twins,  De  Peyster,  the 
preacher,  the  poet. 

"Have  I  friends?"  he  exclaimed.  "I've  got 
'em  to  burn." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  said  the  sergeant.  "  Well,  have 
they  got  any  real  estate  to  boin  ?  " 


A  KNOCKOUT  BY  THE  POLICE 


Sabbatbs     .         145 

Joyce's  jaw  dropped.  Only  De  Peyster  might 
own  real  estate  in  New  York,  and  something  told 
him  that  it  was  beyond  even  him  to  appeal  to 
De  Peyster.  There  were  certain  customers  to 
whom  he  was  trying  to  sell  church  vestments, 
but  he  felt  that  it  might  not  help  trade  to  ask 
them  to  relieve  him  from  a  scrape  of  this  sort. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  to  his  cell  in 
one  of  the  galleries  of  the  great  beehive  of  iron 
and  stone. 

Some  of  his  fellow- voters  took  the  affair  with 
the  ease  of  old  habit;  they  were  inclined  to  break 
forth  into  song,  much  to  the  distress  of  the  other 
guests  arid  the  sleepy  watchman.  But  the 
heart  of  Joyce  was  empty  of  song.  He  wondered 
who  had  preceded  him  in  his  cell.  He  felt  that 
he  would  rather  sit  up  all  night  than  lie  down  on 
that  bed.  In  half  an  hour  a  policeman  came 
and  led  him  forth — to  the  guillotine?  he  won- 
dered. It  was  to  Blake. 

Blake  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  one  of  the 
quiet  heroes  who  glorify  the  solid  ranks  of  "the 
finest."  This  officer  had  once  found  five  thugs 
trying  to  do  up  a  man  who  had  "peached"  on 
them.  They  turned  on  the  policeman  with  two 
knives,  a  pair  of  "knuckles,"  a  sandbag  and  a 
gun.  He  fought  them  all  to  a  standstill,  and 
only  dropped  when  help  had  responded  to  the 
loud  whir  of  his  club  on  the  pavement.  This 
policeman  was  a  wreck,  his  clothes  in  tatters, 

his  helmet  with  a  bullet  hole  in  it,  his  shield 
10 


146  Cbe  IReal  mew 

dented  where  another  bullet  had  glanced,  and 
his  hands  and  face  torn  and  bleeding.  But  you 
should  have  seen  the  five  thugs! 

Now,  it  had  fallen  to  Blake's  lot  to  write  up 
the  courage  of  this  typical  policeman.  He  had 
made  him  a  nine  days'  wonder  and  collected  a 
purse  for  his  family.  And  so  the  policeman  who 
had  arrested  the  five  thugs  somehow  could  not 
hold  his  friend  "Ananias."  Blake  mysteriously 
got  away.  He  entered  the  station  now  as  a  re- 
spectable citizen,  and  sent  for  Joyce.  When  he 
learned  that  Joyce  had  no  one  to  bail  him  out, 
he  said: 

"The  first  thing  a  stranger  ought  to  do  when 
he  comes  to  New  York  is  to  make  a  friend  of 
somebody  with  real  estate  and  a  telephone. 
One  never  knows  when  he  may  need  bail." 

Blake  knew  a  professional  bondsman  who  un- 
derstood the  ways  of  dodging  the  law,  and,  claim- 
ing Joyce  as  a  dear  friend,  gave  bond  for  his  ap- 
pearance in  court.  The  next  morning  the  judge 
decided  that  as  there  had  been  no  fight,  there  had 
been  no  misdemeanor.  The  police  felt  cha- 
grined at  having  prevented  instead  of  punished 
a  misdeed.  Joyce  was  delighted,  till  he  learned 
the  charge  of  his  bailsman.  Then  he  groaned: 
"This  is  where  I  telegraph  home  for  more 
money.  I  brought  what  I  thought  I  could  af- 
ford for  two  weeks.  I've  been  here  two  days. 
Sports  come  high  in  this  town." 


CHAPTER  VIII 


CHINATOWN  -  THE  NUMBER  OF  CHINESE  AND  THEIR  IN- 
DUSTRIES -  THEIR  CLUBS,  NEWSPAPER  AND  RELIGION  - 
THE  JOSS  HOUSE  -  THE  CHINESE  NEW  YEAR  -  THE 
FUNERAL  FEAST  -  CHINESE  AND  WHITE  WOMEN- 
OPIUM  -  THE  HALF-BREED  CHILDREN  -  A  RESTAURANT 
AND  CHINESE  BILL  OF  FARE  -  A  CHINESE  SHOP  -  THE 
CHINESE  THEATRE  -  A  TYPICAL  PLOT  -  THE  CHINESE 
ACTRESS  -  THE  AUDIENCE,  THE  ORCHESTRA  AND  THE 
PLAYERS 


PEAKING  of  Seven-League  Boots  —  we 
have  changed  all  that.  You  can  cross  the 
Pacific  Ocean  in  one  step.  Just  turn  to  your 
right  from  Chatham  Square,  and  —  there  you  are! 
Chinatown  is  a  different  world;  the  very  silence 
of  it  has  a  foreign  sound  to  one  coming  out  of 
the  boiler  factory  of  Chatham  Square.  In 
Chinatown  the  citizens  move  tacitly  on  felt-soled 
shoes.  And  they  have  a  foreign  way  of  walking 
in  the  streets,  which  are  almost  as  narrow  as  the 
narrow  sidewalks,  and  go  with  such  crooks  and 
turns  that  one  of  them  —  Pell  Street  —  describes  a 
semicircle,  and,  with  true  Oriental  politeness, 
eventually  leads  you  right  back  to  the  street  you 
just  left. 

In  Chinatown  you  feel  something  sinister  in 
the  stealthy  tread  and  prowling  manner  of 
these  Celestial  immigrants.  Harmless  soever 


148  £be  IRcal  mew  H>orfc 

as  they  may  be,  they  suggest  melodramas  of 
opium  dens  and  highbinders.  You  happen  on 
them  in  dark  hallways,  or  find  them  looking  at 
you  from  strange  crannies  of  ramshackle  struc- 
tures like  night-blooming  felines. 

Chinatown  is  truly  a  separate  town,  for 
though  it  has  a  population  of  hardly  more  than 
a  thousand,  there  are  seven  times  as  many 
Chinese  engaged  in  laundry  and  other  tasks  in 
other  parts  of  New  York,  and  there  are  colonies 
of  pigtailed  farmers  out  on  Long  Island,  to 
whom  Chinatown  is  a  Mecca.  The  town's 
private  affairs  are  governed  by  a  committee  of 
twelve  prominent  Chinese  merchants  and  an 
annually  elected  "Mayor."  The  business  of 
the  municipality  is  partly  drawn  from  curious 
sight  seers,  but  largely  from  native  patrons;  the 
shops  are  devoted  to  celestial  foodstuffs,  pot- 
tery, jewelry,  fabrics  and  laundry  supplies. 
The  tourists  who  cannot  read  the  multicolored 
banners  that  hang  out  for  signs  can  read  only 
too  well  the  shop-window  allurements  of  porce- 
lains, ivories,  silks,  fans,  screens  and  idols. 

Our  imported  chinaware  is  growing  jealous  of 
the  praise  heaped  on  japanned  ware,  and  is  show- 
ing progress  of  its  own.  At  No.  5  Mott  Street  a 
new  and  modern  building  has  been  seized  on 
as  a  centre  of  progress.  On  the  top  floor  a 
printing  plant  has  been  installed — the  Japanese 
having  formerly  done  all  Chinatown's  press- 
work.  A  Chinese  font  of  type  contains  some 


Chinatown  149 

two  thousand  characters,  but  the  new  shop  has 
imported  a  supply  sufficient  to  publish  a  news- 
paper— and  a  newspaper  with  a  mission  at  that, 
for  it  is  to  be  devoted  to  reforming  China  and 
securing  the  deposition  of  the  Empress.  The 
editor  wisely  begins  at  a  safe  distance.  He  is 
Mr.  Tong  Chee,  a  reformed  professor,  and,  with 
true  Chinese  reserve,  his  daily  paper  is  to  be 
published  twice  a  month. 

The  Reform  News  has  a  sworn  circulation  of 
10,000  to  begin  with,  and  it  appeals  to  a  Reform 
Association  at  home  of  over  three  million  mem- 
bers, so  that  the  affidavit  editor  will  not  reach 
the  end  of  his  rope  so  soon  as  did  the  New  York 
newspaper  circulation  men  in  a  recent  bragging 
war,  when  the  population  began  to  give  out 
before  their  enthusiastic  perjuries. 

The  building  at  No.  5  Mott  Street  also  con- 
tains a  new  Joss  House  and  the  Oriental  Club, 
which  is  a  dozen  years  old  and  devotes  itself  to 
Americanizing  its  members  and  aiding  the  illu- 
mination of  China.  In  this  building,  also,  is 
the  Reform  Association;  it  has  a  "Ladies' 
Branch"  composed  of  the  sixty-five  Chinese  wo- 
men in  this  country.  The  president  of  this  Ce- 
lestial Sorosis  is  Mrs.  Fong  Mow,  a  college  grad- 
uate and  wife  of  the  author  of  a  thrilling  Chinese- 
English  lexicon.  A  prominent  member  of  this 
women's  club  is  a  lecturer,  Miss  Kang  Tung 
Bac,  and  partly  through  her  influence  Chinese 
women  have  been  not  only  brought  to  attend 


150  abe  IReal  IRcw  Jflorfc 

meetings,  but  even  to  adopt  the  odious  Occi- 
dental custom  of  paying  and  receiving  calls. 

The  first  thing  an  American  thinks  of  in  con- 
nection with  a  Chinaman  is  opium,  as  the  first 
thing  a  Frenchman  associates  with  an  English- 
man is  gin,  which  he  rhymes  with  "  God-sev-ze- 
quin."  But  those  who  claim  to  know  say  that 
among  the  four  hundred  million  Chinese  sub- 
jects in  China  there  are  several  who  do  not 
indulge  in  this  intoxicant  smoke.  Certain  it 
is,  that  if  you  ,want  to  see  an  opium  den  in  opera- 
tion you  must  manage  to  steal  into  the  apart- 
ment of  a  private  citizen  taking  his  opium  cum 
dignitate  in  solitude. 

You  are  more  likely  to  find  him  and  a  few 
of  his  friends  engaged  in  gambling  away  their 
American  lucre  on  fan-tan  or  the  more  recent 
craze  for  "Peh  Bin,"  which  has  swept  over  the 
Chinese  world  just  as  "bridge,"  that  new  pans 
asinorum,  has  spanned  the  rest  of  the  world. 
"Peh  Bin"  means  "eight  faces"  and  refers  to  a 
sort  of  combination  of  the  ordinary  dice  with  the 
tops  of  our  boyhood.  An  octagonal  ivory  or 
wooden  lozenge  on  a  peg  carries  a  different  char- 
acter on  each  face,  and  is  set  spinmng  in  a  sort 
of  chafing-dish  with  a  cover.  A  long  paper 
marked  with  eight  squares  carrying  the  corre- 
sponding characters  is  laid  on  a  table.  It  is  in 
red  and  black,  as  are  the  characters,  and  the 
gamblers  place  their  money  on  one  of  the  squares 
or  color-circles,  much  as  in  roulette,  while  the 


Cbinatown 


151 


top  spins  under  the  cover  of  the 
chafing-dish  till  it  falls.  The 
Chinese  have  thus  solved  the 
great  sporting  problem  of  New 
York — how  to  gamble  while  the 
"lid"  is  on. 

But,  though  "Peh  Bin"  rages, 
the  opium  den  is  very  taciturn. 
Even     Mr.    "Ananias"    Blake, 
when  the  Rev.  Mr.  Granger,  of 
Terre  Haute,   appealed    to  him 
for  a  chance  to  see  an  illusion- 
distillery  in  operation,  was  forced 
to   confess   his    ignorance  of    such  a  place  and 
refer  the  truth-seeker  to  the  Detective  Bureau. 
And  the  very  detective  had  to  answer: 

"I'd  like  to  take  your  money,  but,  honesto- 
gawd!  the  only  way  I  know  to  see  an  opium 
joint  is  to  get  one  up  special.  If  you  want  to 
entertain  a  party  of  ladies,  I'll  rent  a  room  and 
a  lay-out  and  get  a  couple  of  chinks  to  go  through 
the  motions,  but  it'll  cost  you  about  eighty  dol- 
lars." 

Now,  eighty  dollars  is  a  large  price  for  truth 
when  imagination  is  quoted  so  low,  and  the  min- 
ister, regretfully  rejoicing  in  New  York's  disap- 
pointing virtue,  decided  not  to  invest  in  a  one- 
night  opium-stand.  But  he  drifted  through  the 
crooked  streets  with  Mr.  Simes,  and  felt  at  last 
that  he  had  found  something  different,  in  kind 
as  well  as  in  degree,  from  Terre  Haute.  He 


chatted  with  little  mongrel  Mongols,  whose  faces 
showed  strange  combinations  of  almond  eyes 
with  noses  and  upper  lips  of  Erin's  own  design. 
He  asked  one  twelve-year-old  his  name  and  was 
told: 

"Me  namee  Patlick  King  Low." 

When  he  inquired  further,  his  curiosity  was 
rebuked  by  a  string  of  Saxon  gutter-eloquence  in 
which  he  was  invited  to  go  to  that  very  place 
against  which  he  had  always  warned  his  parish- 
ioners. He  noted  that  certain  of  the  Chinese 
were  accompanied  by  women  more  or  less  well 
dressed  and  of  undoubted  Caucasian  breed. 

"Those  ladies  are  mission  workers,  I  sup- 
pose?" he  inquired  of  Simes,  who  answered, 
uneasily : 

"Well,  they — yes — they  are  interesting  them- 
selves in  the  welfare  of  the  Chinese.  They  try 
to  divert  them  from  homesickness,  and  they  per- 
suade the  Chinamen  to  invest  their  money  here 
instead  of  sending  it  back  to  China." 

"Most  commendable  work,  too,  I  should  say, 
and  very  courageous  they  must  be;  they  seem 
not  at  all  afraid." 

"  They  know  their  way  about." 

"That  lady  with  the  pail — what  is  it  she  car- 
ries ?  Seems  rather  frothy — like  root  beer." 

"Well,  it's  something  like  root  beer."  Then 
he  changed  the  subject. 

"Too  bad  you  didn't  get  to  town  earlier,  suh. 
February  15th  was  the  beginning  of  the 


Chinatown  iss 

Chinese  New  Yeah's  Day;  it  lasts  a  week. 
New  York  has  three  New  Yeah's  Days  every 
yeah — the  Christian,  the  Chinese  and  the  Jewish. 
The  Chinese  celebrated  in  1904  the  4,079th 
year  of  the  empiah;  they  still  maintain  the  cus- 
tom of  paying  calls;  these  serve  as  an  excuse  for 
drinking;  they  smoke  from  long  tin  pipes,  and 
drink  rice  wine,  and  also  a  good  deal  of  ongaway, 
which  by  any  otheh  name  would  smell  as  whisky, 
suh.  In  every  ho'se  there  is  an  altah  with  its  little 
god,  taking  a  light  lunch  of  incense  smoke  from 
large  joss  sticks,  while  the  less  spiritual  man  is 
tempted  by  celestial  viands,  fruits  and  nuts. 

"There  is  a  remarkable  Chinese  custom  that 
sounds  most  cu'ious,  and  shows  how  basely  we 
flatten  ourselves,  suh,  when  we  call  the  Chinese 
a  dishonest  race;  for  one  of  their  habits  is  the 
clearance  of  all  debts  by  the  fust  of  every  yeah. 
It  is  actually  a  public  disgrace  to  be  found  carry- 
ing a  debt  oveh  from  one  yeah  to  the  next. 
Even  the  relatives  play  a  violent  paht  in  trying 
to  fo'ce  payment  from  the  shameless  debtoh. 
When  we  contrast  this  feeling  with  its  practical 
absence  from  ouah  social  considerations,  suh, 
we  realize  the  Chinese  stability. 

"At  noon  on  New  Yeah's  Day  every  China- 
man,  and  woman,  and  child  climbs  to  the  Joss 
Ho'se,  kneels,  touches  his  forehead  to  the  flo', 
and  exclaims,  '  Ga  ne  fo  toyS  which  is  to  wish 
the  god  a  Happy  New  Yeah.  If  they'd  only 
wish  him  a  new  face ! 


154 


"The  streets  are  gay  and  odd  enough  at  any 
time,  with  their  hanging  shields  and  bannehs  in 
place  of  the  rigid  signs  of  the  Caucasian,  but 
New  Yeah's  week  they  are  most  beautifully 
bedecked  with  yellow  silk  pendants,  lanterns 
and  tasseled  cloths.  And  now  let  us  invade 
their  temple,  or  Joss  Ho'se." 

Up  long  flights  of  crooked  stairs  the  parson 
puffed.  He  made  a  strange  picture  confronted 
by  the  long-  robed  priest  of  a  rival  god,  Gwang 
Gwing  Shing  Te,  who  claims  an  age  beside 
which  the  eternal  years  of  Jehovah  seem  like 
youth  and  Buddha  a  parvenu.  The  original 
founder  of  the  Chinese  worship  is  here  painted 
between  his  effeminate  secretary,  Lee  Poo,  and 
his  ferocious  sergeant-at-arms,  Tu  Chong.  The 
footlight  row  of  candles  gives  a  fitting  theatrical 
touch  to  the  scene,  and  the  great  carved  wood 
altar  is  covered  with  vases  of  bronze  and  with 
cups  full  of  luck-guaranteeing  joss  sticks.  Chi- 
nese worship  is  a  sort  of  feat  in  mechanical  engi- 
neering, and  all  manner  of  labor-saving  devices 
have  been  invented  to  put  our  vauntedly  scien- 
tific age  to  shame. 

As  the  priest  from  Terre  Haute  stared  at  the 
polite  parson  from  Kwantung  —  where  almost  all 
our  Chinamen  grow-  —  various  Celestials  were 
paying  devoirs  to  the  god  who  makes  so  little 
demand  on  their  time.  The  Chinamen  piously 
lighted  their  incense  sticks,  burned  their  quota 
of  shaving  paper,  poured  their  drops  of  rice  wine, 


Cbinatcwm  155 

muttered  their  formula,  tipped  the  obliging 
deity,  and  bowed  themselves  out  till  the  next 
holiday  or  funeral  feast. 

The' great  annual  event,  the 
funeral    feast,  falls   in    the 
third  moon   of  the  Chinese 
year;    it    was   April    24    in 
1904.       On    this    day    the 
mourners  go  to  Cypress  Hills, 
Brooklyn,  where  most  of  the 
dead  are  buried  until  money 
raised  to  send  their  bodies 
home  in  state  to  join  their 
ancestors.     At  the  grave, 

squares     of    gilded     rice  ^  ,          AUDIENCE 

paper     are     burned     as  H(^ 

"grave    money"     -ferry 

fare  for  the  departed.  Food  is  left  on  the  tomb 
that  the  dead  may  not  starve  to  death,  and  in- 
cense and  six  candles  are  burned  at  each  grave. 
The  outward  suits  of  woe  among  the  Chinese  are 
blue  a?nd  white  ribbons  on  the  queue  and  on  the 
shoes,  worn  for  three  days,  and  a  strip  of  blue 
worn  for  three  years. 

Mr.  Granger  found  the  scene  in  the  Joss 
House  so  peaceful  and  the  priest  so  genial  that 
he  caught  himself  salaaming  his  way  out  in 
Chinese  fashion,  though  oblivious  of  the  fact 
that,  as  in  all  other  churches,  the  contribution 
box  is  never  closed.  And  he  went  to  his 
lodgings,  blissful  in  the  conviction  that  China- 


156  ^be  IReal  IRew 

town  is  a  quiet,  virtuous  city  of  peace  and  good 
will. 

Meanwhile,  A.  J.  Joyce  was  also  hunting  ex- 
perience. He  was  bitterly  disappointed  at  be- 
ing unable  to  find  any  opium  hells,  though  he 
came  near  being  thrown  neck  and  crop  out  of  a 
number  of  private  apartments  where  his  in- 
trusion was  received  with  the  same  indignation 
it  would  have  met  had  he  tried  to  go  slumming 
on  Madison  Avenue.  There  is  no  lack  of  places 
where,  in  low  bunks,  hollow-cheeked  Chinamen 
are  stretched  in  gaunt  stupidity  smoking  the 
mystic  pellet  that  gives  them  visions  of  strange 
Edens  of  delight,  strange  aphrodisiac  raptures, 
strange  sensations  of  infinite  wealth  and  power, 
followed  by  reactions  into  unutterable  torments 
of  fear  and  racking  pain.  In  some  of  these 
crannies  women  sprawl  shameless  in  the 
same  imbecile  drunkenness — old  crones  whose 
life  is  but  a  mad  appetite,  who  pay  for  their 
dream-revels  with  withered  health  and  wasted 
mind.  They  foreshadow  the  destiny  of  all  who 
offer  tribute  to  hasheesh,  but  the  horror  of  their 
fate  does  not  deter  many  a  pretty  girl  from  be- 
ginning the  same  path,  from  laying  aside  de- 
cency and  fear,  to  give  herself  to  the  embraces 
and  the  contagion  of  a  loathsome  Chinese  slave 
of  the  lamp.  These  dens  exist,  but  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  discovery  of  the  police,  and  by 
so  much  the  more  remote  from  the  finding  of  the 
casual  tourist. 


Cbinatown  157 

Failing  to  discover  an  opium  joint,  Joyce  found 
the  restaurants  more  hospitable.  In  fact,  they 
fairly  commanded  his  appetite,  with  their  bal- 
conies gaily  bannered  and  radiant  with  glowing 
lanterns  of  rich  color.  His  zest  for  statistics 
had  given  him  a  knowledge  of  certain  Chinese 
dishes,  and  he  led  Blake  up  the  stairs  of  the 
handsomest  restaurant  he  could  find.  The 
place  was  called  the  Chinese  Delmonico's  and 
the  room  pleased  the  Chicagoan  mightily,  with 
its  strange  ceilings,  its  walls  decorated  with 
Chinese  art,  arches  with  their  dragons  coiling 
slimily  amid  ornate  figurations  of  gilded  wood, 
and  graceful,  bare  tables  surrounded  by  quaint 
stools.  The  room  was  clean,  as  are  all  things 
Chinese,  and  the  kitchen  lay  in  full  view  with  a 
reassuring  neatness. 

The  guests  of  the  hostelry  were  a  mixed  ar- 
ray of  wide-eyed  and  loud-voiced  sightseers,  of 
solemn  Chinese  deftly  stoking  themselves  by 
means  of  chopsticks  from  bowls  held  close  to 
their  mouths,  and  of  Bowery  youth  earnestly 
filling  themselves  with  chop  suey — that  substan- 
tial hash  made  of  duck  and  chicken  giblets,  bean 
shoots  and  celery  stewed  to  a  mucilage. 

Joyce  found  a  table,  and,  proud  of  his  knowl- 
edge, beckoned  the  grinning  Chinese  waiter, 
and,  without  consulting  the  bill  of  fare,  com- 
manded : 

"Bring  the  best  you  got  for  two.  We'll  have 
some  bird's  nest  soup  and  some  shark's  fins,  two 


158  Gbe  IReal  mew  U>orh 

steamed  pigeons,  a  stack  of  pineapple  chips  and 
some  lychee  nuts.  That'll  do  for  a  starter,  eh  ?" 

Mr.  Blake  bowed. 

"And  some  extly  fine  tea ?"  queried  the  waiter, 
grinning  still  wider. 

"Yep." 

The  order  was  speedily  filled  and  Joyce  con- 
fessed to  Blake  that  China  could  teach  even  Chi- 
cago a  few  things.  The  tea  was  delicious,  served 
in  the  little  decorated  bowls  and  poured  round 
the  edge  of  the  saucer,  set  on  top,  into  the  trans- 
lucent cups,  with  their  strange  little  shallop 
spoons. 

The  Chicagoan  felt  his  soul  expand,  and  de- 
cided to  buy  an  individual  tea  set  for  "  Ananias  " 
and  one  to  take  home  to  the  family.  When  these 
were  wrapped  up  he  called  for  the  bill.  He 
watched  the  cashier  sliding  the  beads  of  his 
counting  machine  and  said  to  Blake: 

"The  Chinese  live  well,  even  if  they  do  live 
cheap.  I'll  bet  that  bill  will  surprise  a  man  used 
to  American  prices." 

It  did. 

"  Exactly  ten  dollies  fifty  cen',"  said  the  waiter, 
through  his  grin.  Joyce  had  just  breath  enough 
to  demand  an  itemized  account  and  to  long  for 
a  little  fluency  in  Celestial  profanity.  The  waiter 
showed  him  the  menu,  and,  with  an  impressively 
long  finger  nail,  pointed  out  the  prices:  Bird's 
nest  soup,  one  dollar  and  a  half  per  plate;  shark 
fins,  two  dollars  a  fin;  steamed  pigeons,  two  for 


Cbinatown  159 

fifty  cents  apiece;  pineapples,  twenty-five  cents 
a  stack;  the  best  Ling  Gee  Sum  tea,  twenty-five 
cents  a  cup ;  lychee  nuts,  twenty-five  certs  a  por- 
tion; the  tea  sets,  fifty  cents  each. 

The  Chicagoan  ran  it  up  on  the  original  count- 
ing board  of  the  human  fingers  and  growled : 

"Stung  again!  You  can  keep  your  tea 
things." 

He  forgot  to  tip  the  waiter  and  stumbled  down 
the  stairs. 

"Talk  about  the  Waldorf!"  he  said.  "It's  a 
free  lunch  compared  with  the  slums." 

"You  must  see  the  Chinese  theatre  before  you 
go,"  said  Blake. 

"Is  it  any  more  expensive  than  a  box  at  the 
Metropolitan  Opera?" 

"You  can  get  a  seat  for  twenty-five  cents,  or 
a  box  seat  for  fifty  cents." 

On  these  terms  Joyce  consented.  They  passed 
a  shop  window  which  lured  Joyce  within. 

"  I've  got  to  take  something  home  to  the  fam- 
ily," he  said,  "and,  seeing  I  didn't  keep  the  tea 
set,  I'll  get  something  here.  Things  must  be 
cheap,  being  made  by  coolie  labor." 

Before  he  had  priced  many  articles  he  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  coolies  must  have  re- 
cently organized  a  union.  He  made  a  trifling 
purchase  and  stole  out. 

They  made  their  way  around  to  No.  '5  Doyer 
Street.  A  large  automobile  carryall  was  waiting 
before  the  bare  little  hovel.  Blake  explained; 


160  £bc  IReal  IRew 

"  It's  a  gang  of  society  folks  slumming.  People 
on  the  East  Side  are  so  used  to  it  that  they  look 
at  you  in  surprise  if  you  come  down  after  six  in 
anything  but  evening  clothes." 

A  heathenish  racket  came  muffled  through  the 
board  front  of  the  little  theatre  and  deafened 
them  as  they  stepped  into  the  completely  curi- 
ous, low  and  crooked  auditorium. 

Here,  on  tall  benches  as  innocent  of  backs  as 
a  Puritan  pew,  roosted  a  dark  flock  of  a  few  hun- 
dred pigtailed  penguins.  The  Chinamen  all 
wore  broad  felt  hats,  and  were  all  smoking.  The 
stage  had  no  curtain  and  no  scenery;  two  doors 
stood  for  wings,  and  in  one  of  them  the  prompter 
and  director  stood  in  full  view.  With  that  de- 
termination to  be  different  in  which  China  rivals 
certain  poets,  the  orchestra  was  arranged  along 
the  side  and  back  of  the  stage.  Four  or  five 
fiends  of  the  musical  trade  were  squatted  on 
tables  and  making  night  hideous  with  all  the 
forms  of  ear  torment  imaginable.  Every  few 
seconds  the  gong  was  smitten  with  a  clangor 
that  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other, 
leaving  a  headache  behind  it.  There  was  a  pair 
of  huge  and  beautifully  ornamented  bronze  cym- 
bals, and  there  were  other  instruments  less  head- 
splitting,  but  even  less  musical  than  a  banjo. 

"  Reminds  me  of  one  of  the  shivarees  we  used 
to  serenade  bridal  couples  with  in  Illinois,"  said 
Joyce.  "Only  instrument  lacking  seems  to  be 
a  tomato  can  on  a  tarred  string." 


Cbinatown  iei 

The  orchestral  score  of  these  Chinese  Philhar- 
monics could  be  written  without  notes,  if  there 
were  any  form  of  italics  and  exclamation  points 
that  would  do  justice  to  the  neuralgia  of  noise. 
A  favorite  leit-motif  went  something  like  this: 

"Bang!  whang!  click — cluckety — bang! 

"Cluck!  bang! 

"Cluck!  bang! 

"Cluck!  bang! 

" Cluck!  rattlety— bing!  beng!  bong!  bung!!! " 

The  voices  of  the  actors  were  in  keeping  with 
this  dulcet  symphony.  The  very  gestures  were 
deafening,  and  the  faces  they  made  in  expressing 
their  emotions  rivaled  the  Gordian  knot  in  in- 
tricacy. The  men  spoke,  or  rather  squealed,  in 
a  falsetto  violence  that  resembled  an  argument 
on  "Soul  Migration"  at  a  Theosophical  meet- 
ing. But  there  was  a  woman  who  put  them  all 
in  the  shade;  for,  in  this  free  country,  the  Chi- 
nese have  revolutionized  their  theatre  enough 
to  permit  a  woman  to  act,  while  at  home  the  stage 
is  in  the  same  period,  with  regard  to  female  im- 
personation, as  ours  in  Shakespeare's  day. 

This  Chinese  Ellen  Terry  is  said  to  be  the  only 
one  in  the  world,  and  she  rejoices  in  the  catarrhal 
name  of  Ng  Ah.  She  is  not  beautiful,  even  ac- 
cording to  Chinese  standards,  and  her  impres- 
sionistic system  of  make-up  is  disconcerting;  but 
her  robes  and  headdresses  are  of  ravishing 
beauty. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that,  being  a  member  of  a 
11 


162  £be  IReal  IRew 

despised  caste,  she  chiefly  loves  to  impersonate 
the  sacred  Empress.  In  a  Chinese  play  the  big 
"moments"  last  an  hour,  and  her  favorite  "bit" 
is  about  as  long  as  two  acts  of  a  play  of  ours. 
In  this  she  plays  the  part  of  the  Emperor's  favor- 
ite wife.  Her  great  scene  has  been  described  as 
follows:  "It  seems  that  the  Emperor's  son  by 
another  wife  has  been  sentenced  to  death.  The 
mother  of  the  boy  comes  to  beg  his  father  to 
spare  him.  She  is  but  a  plain-looking  woman, 
and  a  man  acts  the  part,  at  that;  but  whenever 
she  tries  to  approach  the  Emperor,  the  favorite, 
splendidly  arrayed  and  with  all  the  witchery  a 
jealous  woman  can  bring  to  bear,  bars  the  way. 
Now  she  fans  the  Emperor,  wheedling  and  cajol- 
ing him  the  while,  or  holds  her  loose  sleeve  before 
his  face  so  that  he  cannot  so  much  as  see  the 
modestly  clad  and  humble  figure  at  his  feet. 
When  at  last  the  mother,  driven  to  desperation, 
allows  herself  to  be  drawn  into  a  war  of  fans, 
the  favorite  cleverly  contrives  to  make  the  sup- 
pliant's fan  strike  the  royal  person.  Such  a 
crime  as  this  is  past  all  forgiveness;  the  offend- 
ing mother  is  hurried  from  the  august  presence 
and  the  triumph  of  her  heartless  rival  is  com- 
plete." 

They  say  that  in  China  a  word  alters  its  en- 
tire meaning  with  its  pitch,  and  that  a  syllable 
spoken  in  a  soprano  voice  will  be  a  delicate  com- 
pliment, while  the  same  syllable  spoken  in  the 
chest  amounts  to  a  challenge  to  a  duel.  One 


Chinatown 


163 


cannot  blame  the  Chinaman,  then,  for  being 
careful  of  his  twenty-five  voices ;  but  to  the  Amer- 
ican it  is  most  distressing,  especially  in  the  ex- 
aggerated form  of  stage  expression.  At  Doyer 
Street  you  will  hear  a  healthy-looking  man  vio- 
lently emitting  the  squeals  of  a  pig  going  to  exe- 
cution and  alternating  these  with  guttural  rasps 


that  would  tear  even  an  American  football  root- 
er's throat  to  rags. 

Mr.  Joyce  tried  to  take  down  the  actual  words 
of  one  of  the  scenes  to  read  to  the  family  at  home, 
but  he  soon  gave  it  up.  So  far  as  it  went,  his 
record  was  as  follows: 

"Kung!  meow!  squawawak!  gung  dummilung 
yung!  wow!  brek-ek-ek-ex !  coax!  hullabaloo! 
skookum!  meow!  fstt!  yung  dummilung  yung! 
wow!" 

I  hope  I  haven't  quoted  anything  improper, 
and  I  hope  that  no  philologist  will  carp  at  the 


164 


IReal  1Fle\\> 


spelling.     But  words  like  these  have  a  bewilder- 
ing effect  when  delivered  at  the  full  speed  and 
volume  of  a  pair  of  leather-bound  lungs  and  ac- 
companied  by   gesticulations   and 
facial    manipulations   frightful   to 
behold.     It  is  only  fair  to  say  that 
to  the  Chinese  our  theatres  are  just 
as  outlandishly  unhuman  and  ridic- 
ulous as  theirs  to  us. 

Chinese  plays  are  notoriously 
long.  The  New  Year's  play  lasts 
a  week,  and  so  do  many  others. 
As  everybody  knows,  the  stage 
mechanism  resembles  that  in  "A 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream." 
Chairs  represent  walls,  bridges, 
cities,  citadels  —  anything.  The 
convenience  and  economy  of  this 
system  is  delightful,  especially  when 
one  of  the  actors  steps  forward  and 
braces  the  chair  for  another.  Then  there  is  a 
door  which  may  represent  death.  The  cleanly 
Chinaman  hates  to  have  corpses  cluttering  up  the 
stage ;  accordingly,  when  it  is  necessary  to  take  a 
human  life,  the  executioner  makes  a  few  passes 
round  the  doomed  man's  head  with  a  sword,  and 
the  unfortunate  wretch  simply  scoots  out  at  the 
death  door.  So  much  for  Bolingbroke!  Every 
man  his  own  undertaker. 

The  Chicagoan  watched  this  special  play  in  in- 
creasing bef uddlement.    He  wrote  home  about  it : 


IS.- 


Cbinatowu  165 

'The  noise  of  that  orchestra  gave  me  the 
toothache.  When  I  went  in,  two  men  were 
fighting.  Both  were  stripped  to  the  waist,  and 
one  of  them  carried  a  sword  and  the  other  a 
pitchfork — a  trident,  Blake  called  it.  They 
fought,  two  up  and  two  down,  like  we  did  when 
we  gave  amatoor  shows  in  the  barn  and  charged 
ten  pins  admission.  Well,  after  fighting  a  while 
and  caterwauling  at  each  other  like  two  old  toms 
on  a  back-yard  fence,  one  of  them  slid  out  at 
death's  door. 

"Then  the  woman  actress  came  in  with  a 
big  wicker  shield  and  a  sword.  I  thought  she 
was  a  kind  of  Joan  of  Arc,  but  the  audience  all 
laughed,  so  I  suppose  it  was  funny.  But  she 
put  up  a  poor  fight,  and  the  man  disarmed  her. 
Then  she  let  down  her  back  hair  and  I  looked 
for  a  tropical  scene,  like  in  Hall  Caine's  'Chris- 
tian,' but  my  hopes  were  doomed,  for  she  went 
out  at  death's  door.  Then  back  comes  the 
other  man,  so  I  guess  it  wasn't  death's  door  after 
all.  He  had  a  shield  and  sword  now,  so  the 
two  men  went  at  it  again,  hammer  and  tongs. 
Then  one  of  them  fell  down  and  turned  a  series 
of  somersaults  all  over  the  place.  It  was  fine 
acrobatics,  but  was  it  art  ?  Then  he  hid  under 
the  shield.  Then  he  wrestled  with  the  other 
man. 

"Then  the  dead  woman  came  back  to  life, 
and  helped  her  husband — or  father,  or  brother, 
son-in-law,  or  whatever  he  was — to  tie  the 


166  £be  iRcal  mew 

acrobat.  Then  she  and  her  husband,  or  what- 
ever he  was,  wrestled  all  round  the  place1  in  most 
amazing  style.  Then  they  all  went  away  and 
some  fellows  came  on  and  put  up  a  sort  of  a 
booth,  very  beautiful  colors  and  all  that.  Then 
came  in  a  strange  old  boy,  with  long  white 
whiskers — a  judge,  I  guess.  Then  some  people 
dragged  in  the  man  that  had  been  tied  up,  and 
he  cut  up  scandalous.  He  actually  put  his  foot 
up  on  the  judge's  desk — or  was  it  a  pulpit? 
Then  the  judge  walloped  him  well  with  a  long 
pole  until  the  old  judge  fell  down  exhausted. 
The  woman  with  the  black  hair  helped  the 
judge  up  to  his  feet,  and  he  went  back  to  the 
bench  and  began  a  speech  that  would  have 
got  on  the  nerves  of  a  plaster  cast.  And  as  he 
showed  no  signs  of  letting  up,  I  came  home." 

On  the  way  out,  Joyce  met  Miss  Collis,  and 
in  spite  of  De  Peyster's  evident  annoyance,  he 
reminded  her  of  their  train-wreck  meeting. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Chinatown?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  it's  all  very  tame  to  what  we  have  in 
San  Francisco,"  she  answered.  "Have  you 
bought  any  souvenirs?" 

"Not  much,"  he  replied,  sheepishly;  "nothing 
very  ornamental,  but  a  little  something  useful." 

He  produced  a  little  celluloid  hand  on  a  long 
stick. 

"  It's  a  back-scratcher,"  he  explained.  "  Well, 
good-night.  So  long,  Ananias.  Me  to  my 
downy." 


CHAPTER  IX 


NEW  YORK  S  GARDEN  OF  EDEN MADISON  SQUARE  GARDEN 

— ITS     BEAUTY DIANA,     THE     PATRON     GODDESS THE 

SIZE    OF    THE    BUILDING   AND    WHAT    IT    CONTAINS THE 

VARIOUS      SHOWS THE      HORSE      SHOW VENICE — THE 

ARION  AND  OTHER  MASKED   BALLS TYPICAL   SCENES 

AN   EARLY  MORNING  DRIVE SUNRISE  IN  NEW  YORK 


THEY  were  taking  a  short  cut  through 
Madison  Square.  Over  the  tops  of 
the  trees  there  soared  a  graceful,  creamy 
shaft.  It  was  vague  and  ghostly.  Twilight 
was  filling  the  town  with  its  savory  smoke. 
Suddenly,  the  shaft  bloomed  into  radiance  like 
a  constellation.  Electric  letters  flamed  white 
against  the  dusky  sky.  Blake  and  Joyce  ex- 
claimed in  one  voice : 

"To-night  the  Arion  Ball  is  on  at  Madison 
Square  Garden!" 

Madison  Square  Garden!  How  much  that 
means  to  the  New  Yorker.  It  is  the  most  New 
Yorkish  thing  in  the  town.  It  is  a  compendium 
of  the  city  life  in  one  volume ;  and  well  it  may  be, 
for  there  is  no  other  building  in  the  world,  to 
be  sure,  that  houses  one-half  the  gaiety  and 
energy,  or  half  the  variety. 

The  pious  Manhattanist  opens  his  windows 


168  £be  IReal 

toward  that  tower.  He  says  all  the  prayers  he 
ever  says  to  the  goddess  Diana  poised  aloft, 
clad  only  in  her  coat  of  skin-tight  gold  and  in  a 
thin  flying  scarf  that  twirls  and  curls  from  her 
aerial  shoulders.  She  is  well  fitted  to  be  the 
goddess  of  New  York,  save  for  her  excessive 
reputation  as  a  prude,  and,  as  to  that,  the  news- 
papers of  her  day  had  much  to  say  of  a  certain 
—but  that  would  be  gossiping. 

Diana  was  the  bachelor  girl  of  her  time.  She 
is  New  York's  proper  deity,  for  she  exults  in 
life;  she  is  always  a-tiptoe  with  restlessness;  she 
is  gilded  and  graceful;  and  she  twirls  with  every 
breeze,  pointing  her  arrow  down  any  wind 
where  there's  a  chance  of  game.  Diana,  hunt- 
ress of  pleasure,  long  may  you  pirouette  above 
this  pleasure-hunting  town ! 

Never  goddess  had  fairer  haunt,  for  her 
tower  is  a  thing  of  glory  by  day,  and  at  night, 
shadowily  hinted  by  its  altitudinous  electric 
globes,  it  is  a  vision  of  poetry.  This  giralda  is 
an  improvement  on  its  original  in  Seville,  which 
it  surpasses  in  splendor  and  in  the  grace  of  its 
graduated  flights  of  architecture. 

The  building  from  which  this  swift  high  shaft 
leaps  up  is  the  dearest  thing  in  New  York's 
heart — dearest  in  a  double  sense,  for  its  rental 
is  a  thousand  dollars  a  night.  And  yet,  it  has 
never  paid  expenses.  Still,  whenever  a  hint  of 
tearing  it  down  has  been  whispered,  a  million 
voices  have  gone  up  against  the  sacrilege. 


IRew  UJorfc's  (Sarben  of  igfcen      109 

Turn  it  into  a  temple,  a  post-office,  anything; 
but  keep  it  erect  so  long  as  the  town  holds 
beauty  in  esteem. 

"What  London  would  be  without  St.  Paul's, 
or  Paris  without  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,"  said 
Blake,  "that  is  what  New 
York  would  be  without  Madi- 
son Square  Garden."  He  had 
run  into  A.  J.  Joyce,  who  was 
feeling  lonely,  and  declined  to 
be  shaken  off.  He  saw  a  chance 
for  a  statistical  display  now, 
and  broke  out: 

''The  Garden,  they  say,  is 
the  largest  amusement  temple 
in  the  country,  and  one  of  the 
largest  in  the  world.  The  Diana  is 
365  feet  above  the  ground.  The 
amphitheatre  is  300  feet  long,  200 
feet  broad  and  80  feet  high;  it  seats  A  NEW  YORKER 
6,000  people,  and  is  lighted  by  7,000 
incandescents.  I  was  up  in  the  tower  to-day  and 
I  could  see  beyond  Grant's  Tomb,  far  over 
into  New  Jersey,  and  well  across  Long  Island. 
The  building,  I  find,  cost  $3,000,000,  and  it  held 
14,000  people  once  when  Grover  Cleveland 
spoke.  Besides  the  huge  amphitheatre,  it  con- 
tains that  large  theatre  where  companies  play 
all  season,  and  then  there's  a  small  hall,  where 
concerts  are  given." 

"I    saw    a    contest   for    the    billiard    cham- 


170  £be  IReal 

pionship  of  the  world  there  once,"  said 
Blake. 

"And  there's  a  restaurant  where  a  thousand 
people  can  be  served,"  the  Chicagoan  persisted. 
"The  basement  will  hold  troops  of  cavalry,  or 
Barnum's  menagerie,  or  any  old  thing.  On  the 
roof  I  hear  that  concerts  and  comic  operas  or 
vaudeville  are  given  in  summer,  and  for  the  last 
two  summers  they  say  you  could  spend  an 
evening  there  in  Japan,  with  a  Japanese  toy 
landscape,  a  Japanese  opera  and  Japanese 
dishes  served  by  geishas." 

If  there  is  any  more  beautiful  temple  of 
pleasure  in  the  world  than  Madison  Square 
Garden,  it  must  be  in  some  of  the  undiscovered 
regions,  for  it  has  not  yet  been  seen  by  civilized 
men  trying  to  forget  civilization. 

What  form  of  amusement  has  the  New  Yorker 
not  seen  in  this  microcosm  ?  Here  he  is  brought 
as  a  child  to  see  the  Greatest  Show  on  Earth 
on  a  greater  scale  than  in  any  tent — though  not 
so  easy  to  crawl  under.  Here  the  menagerie 
has  overwhelmed  him  with  its  animals  almost 
as  fearful  and  wonderful  as  the  menagerie  of 
adjectives  Tody  Hamilton  has  gathered  out  of 
the  backwoods  of  the  dictionary.  That  com- 
plicated, noisy  menagerie  smell  has  dislocated 
his  nose,  as  later  the  three-ring  circus  has 
dislocated  his  eyes. 

Playing  so  important  a  part  in  the  New  York 
child's  education,  it  is  small  wonder  he  loves  it 


1Rew  HJorfc's  (Barben  of  i£J>en      m 

when  he  is  grown.  And  it  grows  with  him;  for 
when  the  circus  is  over,  he  goes  to  the  Dog 
Show,  and  gets  deliciously  frightened  out  of  his 
wits  by  the  barking  of  a  thousand  canines, 
leaping  and  tugging  at  their  chains,  and  thrust- 
ing their  heads  out  to  bite — or,  what  is  worse, 
to  lather  him  with  their  impartial  tongues. 
His  little  sister  is  taken  to  the  Cat  Show,  where 
the  priceless  Angoras  doze  and  .purr,  and  where 
the  town's  practical  joker,  Bryan  G.  Hughes, 
once  took  first  prize  with  a  common  torn  cat 
picked  up  in  the  gutter. 

Once  a  year  the  Garden  calls  in  all  the  coun- 
try cousins  and  the  farmers,  real  or  amateur, 
to  see  the  Poultry  Show,  where  lovers  of  the 
Plymouth  Rock  can  quarrel  with  the  devotees 
of  the  Brahma  and  the  Cochin  China,  and  where 
the  game-cocks  and  the  featherweight  bantams 
challenge  one  another  to  mortal  combat  all  day 
long  in  safety. 

When  the  New  Yorker  grows  older  he  prob- 
ably joins  a  regiment — Squadron  A,  or  the  Sev- 
enth, if  he  has  the  price — one  of  the  others  other- 
wise. The  Military  Tournament  draws  him  to 
the  Garden  next,  and  his  heart  jounces  as  he 
sees  the  cavalryman  running  alongside  his  bare- 
back horses,  four  abreast,  and,  as  they  take  a 
hurdle,  vaulting  across  three  loping  steeds  and 
plouncing  squarely  on  the  fourth  horse,  but  fac- 
ing toward  the  tail.  There  he  will  see  the  artil- 
lery teams  come  dashing  round  the  oval,  swirling 


172  £be  iReal  IRcw  JPorfc 

the  tanbark  in  clouds  as  they  slidder  on  a  sharp 
turn  and  nicely  drive  between  the  narrow  posts. 
There  the  New  Yorker's  ears  crackle  from  the 
musketry  and  cannonade  of  the  sham  battles. 
Each  of  the  regiments  is  represented  in  the  open- 
ing review,  and  then  the  Canadians  stalk  in 
khaki  and  the  gorgeous  Highlanders,  with  their 
squealing  bagpipes,  flaunt  their  tartans. 

In  this  big  space  the  New  Yorker  has  seen 
the  charge  up  San  Juan  Hill  done  in  miniature, 
and  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes  as  the  boys  swung 
past  chanting,  "There'll  Be  a  Hot  Time  in  the 
Old  Town  To-night."  It  was  at  "The  Wild 
West  Show"  he  saw  this,  for  the  show  has  other 
things  to  tempt  the  spectator  weary  of  Indians. 
But  who  can  ever  weary  of  the  tame  savages 
in  their  outrageous  make-up,  or  the  old  Dead- 
wood  stage-coach  that  goes  round  and  round, 
pursued  by  Indians  shooting  it  full  of  paper 
wads  and  falling  off  to  the  ground  as  they  them- 
selves die  twice  a  day  from  an  overdose  of  blank 
cartridges  ? 

The  famous  six-day  bicycle  race  takes  place 
here  annually,  and  all  night  long  the  benches 
are  crowded  with  enthusiasts  watching  the  jaded 
riders  pumping  away  on  their  eternal  treadles. 
The  yellow  journals  picture  them  as  going  mad 
with  fatigue,  but  in  reality  they  bear  the  grind 
with  amazing  indifference,  except  when  a  spec- 
tator offers  a  cash  prize  for  a  short  race;  then 
they  brighten  up  and  flash  round  like  demons. 


mew  Sorb's  (Sarben  of  £ben      173 

They  seem  always  to  keep  one  more  spurt  up 
their  sleeves. 

Then  there's  the  Sportsmen's  Show,  and  the 
building  becomes  a  great  landscape,  with  all 
manner  of  wild  places  condensed  into  one  med- 
ley. This  year  one  end  was  a  range  of  moun- 
tains, with  real  trees  and  real  streams  of  real 
water.  The  water  turned  two  old-fashioned 
wheels  and  then  cascaded  into  a  big  lake  in  the 
centre.  One  end  of  the  lake  was  thick  with  all 
manner  of  waterfowl,  and  in  another  part  was 
a  fish  hatchery,  where  trout  went  to  school  from 
the  day  of  their  birth  to  their  day  of  readiness 
for  a  frying-pan  diploma. 

There  was  a  hundred-and-fifty-foot  tank  built 
over  the  arena  boxes,  and  here  were  contests 
in  fly-casting.  In  the  lake  there  were  canoe 
races,  water  push-ball,  log-rolling  contests  (poli- 
ticians and  literary  men  barred)  and  water  polo. 
In  the  basement  there  were  contests  in  rifle  and 
revolver  shooting,  and  you  could  see  a  man  shoot 
the  ashes  off  another  man's  cigar  at  a  distance 
of  twenty-eight  feet,  and  he  complained  that  he 
was  aiming  with  the  wrong  eye,  as  the  right  one 
had  caught  cold  and  was  swollen  shut. 

Here  were  shacks  or  tents  for  Nimrods,  with 
beds  of  green  boughs.  Here  the  campfires  of 
old  guides  from  the  Maine  woods  crackled  along- 
side the  booths  of  men  offering  for  sale  the  new- 
est models  of  guns  and  powders  and  bullets — 
guns  guaranteed  to  be  so  intelligent  that  they 


174  Gbe  IRcal  IRcw  JPorfc 

will  almost  go  out  alone  and  bring  in  a  rabbit 
for  breakfast  while  the  owner  lies  abed  and 
watches  it  simmer  on  the  self-lighting  and  self- 
regulating  stove.  There  were  exhibitions  of 
utensils  which  fold  up  so  completely  that  you 
can  carry  an  entire  outfit,  including  a  tent  and 
a  small  sailboat,  in  your  waistcoat  pocket.  In 
your  other  waistcoat  pocket  you  can  tuck  con- 
densed foods  enough  for  a  regiment;  one  pill 
warranted  to  make  a  Sandow  out  of  you  and 
keep  you  from  wanting  another  for  a  week. 

In  other  parts  of  the  Garden  you  will  find  elk 
and  moose,  very  philosophical  over  their  cap- 
tivity, in  contrast  with  restless  raccoons,  wolves, 
foxes  and  wildcats.  Some  of  the  animals  are 
stuffed;  the  rest  are  self-stuffing. 

In  the  centre  lake  there  is  sometimes  an  island 
where  an  almost  pretty  squaw  tries  to  live  up 
to  the  stories  of  poets  who  never  saw  an  In- 
dienne.  To  this  carnival  gather  all  those  who 
know  one  end  of  a  gun  from  the  other,  and  every 
huntsman  or  fisherman  with  a  lie  to  swap. 

In  the  Garden  in  the  summer  there  is  Ven- 
ice. The  centre  of  the  arena  is  the  Adriatic 
Sea  or  a  circular  Grand  Canal.  You  can 
cross  on  a  bridge  or  you  can  make  the  grand 
tour  in  a  gondola  with  a  human  gondolier  and 
some  Italians  who  do  barber's  work  by  day 
and  sing  barber  chords  by  night  with  much 
twittering  of  mandolins  and  a  loud  chanting  of 
"Finiculi,  Finicula."  At  one  end  of  the  Garden 


IRcw  HJorh's  (Sar&en  of  Eben      175 

is  a  large  orchestra  conducted  by  Mr.  Duss, 
formerly  a  religious  man  from  Economy,  Pa. 
Besides  plenteous  music  there  are  drinks. 

Last  winter  New  York  tried  to  be  Athenian. 
The  Garden  was  given  over  to  a  Physical  Cul- 
ture Show,  where  men  and  women  vied  in  con- 
tests of  beauty  for  prizes,  and  got  as  near  to 
Phryne's  or  Apollo's  costume  as  St.  Anthony 
Comstock  allowed.  It  was  a  strangely  pagan 
sight  to  see  a  woman  clad  almost  like  the  Diana 
above  her  writhing  and  twisting  to  prove  her 
corset  -  innocence.  There  were  also  powerful 
men  writhing  and  twisting,  with  muscles  fairly 
crawling  all  over  them;  but  the  crowd  thronged 
to  the  women,  and  I  fear  took  it  all  as  a  naughty 
joke. 

In  this  same  variety  show,  the  Reverend 
John  Alexander  Dowie  housed  his  caravan  for 
a  season  of  prayer  and  vituperation.  He  said 
he  was  the  renovated  Elijah,  and  he  ought  to 
know.  But  he  made  his  first  grand  mistake 
in  bringing  a  distinctly  homely  lot  of  women 
with  him.  How  could  he  expect  a  mob  of 
frumps  to  convert  a  town  which  will  hardly  sit 
up  when  a  manager  hurls  upon  the  stage  a 
tornado  of  show  girls,  shapely,  sophisticated, 
and  dressed  in  gowns  that  cost  $500  apiece? 
The  man  who  would  convert  New  York  must 
look  to  the  quality  of  his  "ladies'  auxiliary." 
Since  the  Christian  Endeavor  Society  flooded 
the  town  with  thousands  of  good  but  rural 


176  Gbe  IReal  IRcw  H>orfe 

people,  who  went  about  staring  and  stared  at, 
New  York  has  never  been  so  bored  as  it  was 
by  the  Dowie  inundation.  Even  the  Cherry 
Sisters  interested  the  town  a  longer  while. 

It  was  in  the  Garden,  during  the  Spanish 
War,  that  the  Hon.  John  Lawrence  Sullivan 
made  one  of  his  most  Ciceronian  orations. 
Neatly  adapting  a  historic  phrase  addressed  by 
Robert  Fitzsimmons,  Esq.,  to  James  Corbett, 
Gentleman,  Mr.  Sullivan  advised  Spain  to  "go 
git  a  repytation  before  she  tackles  a  heavy- 
weight like  U.  S.,"  and  signed  himself  ver- 
bally, "Yours  truly,  John  L.  Sullivan." 

It  was  in  the  Garden  that  Yousouf,  "the 
Terrible  Turk,"  met  the  American  wrestler, 
Ernest  Roeber,  on  a  small  platform,  and,  fail- 
ing to  get  his  spidery  claws  on  the  wiry  little 
Roeber,  finally  gave  him  a  push  that  sent  him 
headlong  and  head  first  off  the  boards  to  the 
ground.  Roeber  was  carried  out  senseless,  and 
the  enormous  crowd  was  furious.  Then  was 
seen  one  of  the  prettiest  defiances  ever  handed 
to  a  mob  by  a  single  hero.  Yousouf  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  mat  and  executed  a  pas  seul  with 
all  the  bravado  imaginable. 

The  Metropolitan  Opera  House  was  chosen 
for  their  next  bout.  This  ended  in  a  free  fight. 
And  the  Metropolitan  stage,  which  had  pre- 
viously seen  nothing  more  deadly  than  grand 
opera  duels  between  a  tenor  and  a  baritone,  or 
fierce  wrestling  matches  with  the  key,  was  dig- 


THE  ARION  BALL  COMMITTEE 


1Rew  H)orfT3  (Sarben  of  J6ben      177 

nified  by  a  genuine  shindy  in  which  a  dozen 
couples  joined  battle,  to  the  delight  of  the  police, 
who  reluctantly  interfered.  It  was  this  Yous- 
ouf  who,  on  starting  home  to  Turkey,  would 
not  trust  American  drafts,  but  had  all  his  money 
in  gold.  He  sailed  on  the  Bourgogne,  and  when 
she  sank,  he  sank,  too,  rather  than  let  go  his  bag 
of  coin.  A  strange  visitor  of  sinister  memory. 

The  Garden  is  versatile  enough  to  include 
everything  from  a  wrestling  match  to  a  religious 
revival,  and  on  to  a  Fashion  Show,  where  the 
styles  are  shown  some  months  in  advance. 
But  the  true  fashion  bazaars  are  two  in  num- 
ber: the  Horse  Show  and  the  dark  horse  show. 
This  latter  is  the  annual  Cake  Walk  and  Car- 
nival of  the  cream  of  colored  society — the 
chocolate  cream,  as  it  were. 

But  most  of  the  champion  cakeists  are  gone 
now.  They  are  in  Europe  delighting  the  aris- 
tocracy, turning  the  crowned  heads  kinky  with 
envy,  and  teaching  the  bluest  blood  to  circulate 
in  ragtime  while  lords  and  ladies  study  hard  to 
master  the  sinuous  arts  of  what  the  French 
call  the  "kak-vak." 

The  Cake  Walk  in  the  Garden,  however,  fills 
but  one  night.  The  Horse  Show  fills  a  golden, 
glorious  week.  It  is  a  yearly  parade  of  horse- 
flesh and  society  flesh.  The  humorists  annually 
make  game  of  the  Horse  Show  because  the  peo- 
ple themselves  are  the  show  and  the  horses  only 
an  excuse.  As  if  any  excuse  that  brought  the 
12 


178 

best  pedigreed  women  and  the  best  groomed 
men  on  parade  were  not  a  good  excuse!  As  if  a 
filly  from  marble  halls  were  not  a  better  sight 
than  any  cob  from  Tattersall's ! 

The  true  New  Yorker  always  tries  to  get  to 
the  Horse  Show  at  least  once  a  year.  He 
jostles  along  with  the  crowd  of  pedestrians, 
never  looking  at  the  quadrupeds  in  the  ring, 
but  frankly  staring  at  the  occupants  of  the  box 
stalls.  He  makes  no  bones  of  halting  before  a 
group  of  society  people,  to  note  the  good  points 
of  the  women  and  inquire  who  they  are. 

"  Isn't  that  Miss  Van  Ilia  ?"  he  asks  a  stranger. 

"No;  that's  Mrs.  Jack  Van  Vanvan." 

In  reality  it  is  "Mrs.  Brown,"  but  they  are 
none  the  losers.  They  move  on,  only  to  halt 
again  and  exclaim: 

"Oh,  there's  Miss  de  Butante  and  the  little 
Duke  her  father  has  just  bought  her.  She 
ought  to  have  got  more  for  her  money." 

And  so  they  go  the  rounds,  while  the  biped 
beauties  whinny  and  neigh  to  their  companions 
and  pretend  not  to  see  that  they  are  the  subject 
of  inspection.  A  genuine  part  of  the  Horse 
Show  is  the  Waldorf-Astoria,  whose  corridors 
are  packed  all  week  with  aristocrats  from  out  of 
town  and  with  people  in  town  who  stop  there 
for  dinner  or  supper. 

Then  there  is  the  new  rival  of  the  horse,  the 
automobile;  he,  too,  must  have  his  show.  He 
is  noisier,  smellier  and  more  unruly,  but  a  great 


IRew  HJorfc's  (Sarben  of  i£ben      179 

toy  for  grown-ups  that  can  afford  to  "see  the 
wheels  go  round,"  can  pay  for  breakages,  and 
don't  mind  dust,  grease  and  outre  perfumes. 

Until  a  while  ago  New  Year's  Eve  was  always 
an  occasion  when  one  could  "  on  with  the  dance, 
let  joy  be  unrefined,"  for  the  costume  riot  of  the 
French  "Cercle  de  I'Harmonie"  filled  the  Gar- 
den with  revelry  and  emptied  all  the  magnums 
and  half  the  pocketbooks  in  town.  It  was  very 
easy  to  be  so  happy  that  the  puritanic  police 
would  carry  you  off  to  the  station  to  convince 
you  that  "life  is  real,  life  is  earnest,  and  the  gaol 
may  be  its  goal." 

The  French  ball  is  now  replaced  by  a  rather 
tawdry  substitute  called  the  "French  Students," 
whose  annual  alumni  reunion  takes  place  at  the 
so-called  Grand  Central  Palace  of  Industry, 
which  is  neither  grand  nor  central  and  has  no 
suggestion  of  a  palace  nor  of  industry. 

But  the  Germans  have  survived  their  Gallic 
cousins,  because  there  are  more  of  them  in  New 
York.  Their  annual  ball  is  the  most  gorgeous 
affair  of  its  sort  in  town. 

The  Arion  Club  fellows  are  so  hospitable  that 
once  a  year  they  rent  Madison  Square  Garden 
at  a  cost  of  $1,900  for  two  days,  one  of  which 
must  be  spent  on  the  elaborate  decorations.  It 
is  true  that  the  affair  nets  a  profit  of  from  $6,000 
to  $12,000,  but  the  venture  merits  the  profit, 
for  great  sums  are  spent  on  dressing  the  scene 
and  in  hiring  and  costuming  the  pageant  and 


180  tPbe  IRcal  1Rcw 

ballet.  The  Arion  is  one  of  the  events  of  the 
year,  its  chief  rival  being  the  ball  of  the  Old 
Guard,  i.  e.,  the  ex-members  of  the  National 
Guard.  These  men  wear  a  gorgeous  uniform, 
with  huge  bearskin  caps.  The  grand  march  is 
very  impressive,  as  most  of  the  guests  don  vari- 
ous military  regalia  and  the  women  are  in 
their  brightest  attire.  For  this  event  the  whole 
orchestra  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  is 
boarded  over. 

To  the  Arion  Ball  went  Joyce  and  Blake, 
dressed  in  their  purest  evening  robes.  They 
dined  at  their  leisure  and  arranged  to  arrive  at 
11.30.  Under  the  colonnade,  with  its  many  pol- 
ished marble  columns,  a  throng  was  edging  into 
the  doorway.  At  the  box-offices  mobs  were 
struggling  for  admission  at  $10  per  head,  or  for 
boxes  at  still  higher  prices.  Inside  the  arena 
there  was  a  newly  erected  barrier  to  cut  off  the 
dancing  floor  from  the  promenade.  This  bar- 
rier was  composed  of  forty-four  clusters  of  col- 
umns decorated  with  plants  and  flowers  and 
connected  by  streamers  of  bunting.  At  inter- 
vals were  large  vases  of  flowers  and  tubs  of 
palms.  One  hundred  and  twenty  coats  of  ar- 
mor were  held  by  caryatides  and  atlantes,  and 
innumerable  dolphins  spouted  bunting. 

Over  the  dance  floor  a  canopy  of  gold  was 
swung,  and  from  it  hung  pendent  electric  globes 
smothered  in  flowers.  In  the  centre  a  circular 
stairway  of  white  and  gold  led  up  to  a  platform 


H?orfc'6  (Bar&en  of  i£t>en      isi- 

over  which  was  suspended  an  immense  crown— 
Arion's  own  coronet.  Electric  lights  by  the 
thousand  were  fairly  sprinkled  everywhere.  Up 
near  the  roof  was  a  press-room,  where  reporters 
and  their  friends  could  bathe  in  champagne  and 
wallow  in  lobster  salad.  The  journalist,  Blake, 
smuggled  Joyce  in,  and  he  did  his  best  to  get 
his  gate-money's  worth. 

All  the  rest  of  the  building,  except  the  space 
for  the  dancers  or  spectators,  was  one  vast  re- 
fectory of  small  tables,  where  liquid  refresh- 
ments were  devoured  in  appalling  quantities. 

At  a  little  before  midnight  the  preliminary 
band  concert  ended,  and  trumpets  heralded 
what  the  programme  eloquently  described  as  the 

GRAND  SPECTACULAR  PAGEANT 

Of  artistically  arranged  groups,  composed  of  historical 
characters  of  ancient  and  modern  times,  with  over  five 
hundred  men  and  women  in  the  costumes  of  the  times 
and  nations  they  represent,  carrying  out  the  general 
idea: 

THE  WORLD  PAYING  HOMAGE  TO  ARION. 

We  see  the  various  nations  of  ancient  and  modern 
times,  their  monarchs  with  suites  of  noblemen,  pages, 
slaves,  etc.,  in  garments  glittering  with  gold  and  silver, 
diamonds  and  other  precious  stones,  and  of  a  splendor 
never  before  equaled  in  any  spectacular  production  in 
this  city.  The  costumes  were  especially  designed  for 
this  occasion  by  Mr.  Bolossy  Kiralfy,  and  made  under 
his  instructions  in  Europe.  For  the  different  groups  he 
selected  the  most  beautiful  women  and  the  best  adapted 
men  obtainable  for  their  respective  characters. 


182  £be  IReal  IRcw  gorft 

In  this  parade  the  Empress  Theodora,  with 
her  Byzantine  court,  was  followed  by  Monte- 
zuma  and  his  Aztec  train;  Hernando  Cortez  and 
his  Spaniards  came  on  their  heels,  and  next  a 
languid  Oriental  princess  in  a  palanquin  with 
companions  enough  to  fit  out  a  dozen  harems. 
A  troop  of  bullfighters  and  Andalusian  dancers 
preceded  Harry  the  Fifth  of  England,  with  his 
knights  and  ladies.  Then  an  African  court  with 
Amazons,  "pretty  wTomen  of  rarely  fine  shape," 
according  to  the  dubious  compliment  of  the 
programme.  Finally  came  Arion  himself  and 
Prince  Carnival  with  Columbia  and  a  chorus  of 
loud-voiced  celebrants.  'To  signify  the  golden 
jubilee  of  the  Arion  Society,  gold  is  in  abundance 
in  this  group,"  said  the  programme,  alluding, 
perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  later  the  ballet  ladies 
mingled  among  the  audience  and  made  mascu- 
line acquaintances  with  a  keen  business  eye. 

When  the  long  pageant  had  wound  round 
and  round  the  arena,  Arion  mounted  his  throne, 
and  was  crowned,  while  trumpets  blared  and 
the  chorus  made  a  loud  noise,  called  a  "jubilee 
hymn."  Then  the  procession  filed  out  again, 
and  the  proud  Spaniards  aided  the  Aztec  super- 
numeraries in  carrying  off  the  heavy  sections 
of  the  central  platform. 

When  the  floor  was  cleared,  a  flood  of  ballet 
dancers  reveled  awhile,  and  150  women  united 
in  long,  leggy  lines  of  kicking  and  swirling 
femininity.  These  were  shoo'd  off  by  clowns 


IRew  JPorh's  (Sarben  of  Ebcn 

ten  feet  high.  Then  the  floor  was  open  to  the 
public.  Here,  and  in  the  promenade,  there 
flowed  a  curious  mixture  of  all  grades  of  society. 
Here  the  most  famous  beau  in  the  country  is 
elbowed  by  a  little  newspaper  man  made  up  as 
"Mr.  Peewee. "  There  a  prominent  actor  is 
begging  the  pardon  of  a  staid  German  professor 
from  one  of  the  universities.  The  tenor  who 
has  been  singing  the  blameless  fool  Parsifal  to 
thousands  of  devout  Wagnerians  at  the  Metro- 
politan Opera,  now  stands  on  a  chair  and 
smokes  a  long  black  cigar,  with  much  sophisti- 
cation. .A  gang  of  hilarious  women  proceed 
to  play  the  flower-girl  scene  with  him,  and  even 
Amfortas  forgets  his  wound  in  the  effort  to  save 
his  friend — or  to  share  his  sport  with  a  score 
of  Kundrys. 

Round  about  the  promenade  moves  a  Gulf 
Stream  of  men  in  evening  dress,  and  of  women 
(a  few  only  in  masks) ;  some  of  these  are  in  ball 
gowns,  some  in  cowgirl  suits  or  cowboy  suits, 
in  tights  or  Tyrolean  skirts,  or  in  anything 
rentable  at  a  costumer's.  Here  a  man  in  com- 
plete tramp  disguise,  with  a  "Happy  Hooligan" 
mask,  is  proud  to  win  anonymous  fame  by 
cutting  silly  capers  that  bring  a  good-natured 
laugh.  There,  a  girl  tipsy  before  the  proper 
hour,  begins  to  cry  and  embrace  the  nearest  man 
for  sympathy. 

Some  of  the  women  are  amazingly  beautiful, 
while  others,  fat,  forty  and  shapely  as  a  ferry- 


IReal  IRew  l))orfc 

boat,  are  only  amazing  in  their 
short  skirts   and   their   hippo- 
potamus efforts  at  coquettish- 
ness.     A  few  German  matrons 
lend  a  strange  contrast  till  they 
grow  sleepy  and  go  virtuously 
home   at    half-past    midnight. 
In  the  boxes  and  on  the  floor 
there  is  missing  hardly  one  of 
the  more  successful  women  of 
the  town.     The  richest  of  them 
fill  the  boxes,  as  if  this  were  at 
a  slave-mart,  and  with  some  of 
them  at  the  back  of   the  box 
sits    a    large    negress,    a 
servant,   haughty   in    the 
pride    of    her    establish- 
ment.   On  a  table  in  each 
box  is  a  rapidly  growing 
pyramid  of   emptied 
champagne  bottles. 

Here  and  there  the  members  of  the  Arion 
Society  who  are  on  the  floor  committee  are 
distinguished  by  caps  made  like  great  cock's 
combs,  trimmed  with  gold  spangles.  It  would 
be  hard  to  say  whether  they  make  the  tall  or 
the  short,  the  fat  or  the  lean  committeemen  look 
the  more  ridiculous. 

The  programme  announces  that  "  Masks  must 
be  removed  after  1  o'clock  A.M."  Certain  of 
the  women  interpret  the  order  of  removal  very 


A    BELLE    OF    THE 
ARION    BALL 


's  (Sarben  of 

generously.  More  and  more  appears  that  in- 
variable accompaniment  and  inspiration  of  all 
Teutonic  or  Anglo-Saxon  merrymaking — liquor. 
More  and  more  the  fumes  of  all  this  river  of 
champagne  rise  and  rule.  But  the  surly  drunk- 
ards are  in  the  minority.  Everyone  is  here  for 
fun,  and  fun  reigns  as  decorum  flies. 

The  visitors  from  out  of  town  may  feel  lone- 
some at  first,  knowing  no  one,  but  introductions 
grow  less  and  less  necessary,  and  almost  no 
woman  who  is  unattached  resists  an  arm  about 
her  waist  and  a  rush  for  the  dance  floor. 

The  Chicagoan  was  late  in  making  up  his 
mind  which  to  choose.  He  soon  lost  Blake,  who, 
being  a  newspaper  man  with  supposed  capabili- 
ties of  giving  away  free  "space,"  was  smiled 
on  by  all  the  ambitious  chorus  girls  and  other 
stage  parasites  who  have  given  the  word  "ac- 
tress" a  large  and  dubious  scope.  The  women 
Joyce  wanted  were  guarded  by  men  bigger  than 
he.  Those  who  were  loose  looked  usually  a 
little  too  much  so.  Round  and  round  he 
walked.  At  last,  a  pretty  young  woman  in  one 
of  the  boxes  looked  at  him  with  a  gleam  as  of 
surprise  and  recognition.  He  had  never  seen 
her  before,  but — well,  he  was  from  Chicago; 
he  was  not  bashful.  He  lifted  his  hat,  went  to 
the  rail,  put  out  his  hand,  and  said : 

"Who'd  have  thought  of  finding  you  here? 
So  glad  to  see  you  again!  Why  aren't  you 
dancing?" 


186 


IRcal  IRew  i!?orfc 


I  can't  dance  alone." 

Come  along  at  once!"     He  lent  her  a  hand 
and  she  leaped  over  the  rail  to  the  floor. 

"How  you  have  changed,  Mr. 
Buxton!"  she  said. 

That  wasn't  his  name,  but  he 
only  smiled.  "There  is  still  room 
for  improvement.  But  you  look 
younger  than  ever." 

The  dance  was  almost  over  when 
they  began.  So  they  were  forced 
to  take  the  next.  She  two- 
stepped  so  well  that  he 
said  he  knew  she  waltzed 
divinely.  So  they  took  a 
waltz. 

"The     next     will     be 
another       two-step,"      he 

said.     So    they    two-stepped.      Then    came    a 
quadrille. 

"I  hate  square  dances,"  she  cried. 
"And  you  must  be  thirsty,"  he  ventured.     A 
little    later    he    said    to    a  beaming  and  side- 
whiskery  waiter,  "A  pint  of  champagne!" 
"Only  quarts,  monsieur." 
He  was  so  flattered  at  being  called  "  monsieur" 
that  he  made   it   quarts.     "And   some  lobster 
salad."     The  salad  lasted  longer  than  the  wine, 
so  it  must  be   another  quart.     Formality   had 
vanished  so  completely  that  Joyce  felt  impelled 
to  force  a  glass  on  the  waiter,  whom  he  called 


IN    THE    PAGEANT 


IRcw  l^orfc's  (Sarbcn  of  lEbcn      is? 

"papa."  The  other  couples  in  the  dining-room 
seemed  to  be  mostly  engaged  couples. 

The  Chicagoan  offered  a  little  friendly  em- 
brace to  his  companion.  She  repulsed  it  with 
magnificence.  This  made  her  far  more  inter- 
esting. He  asked  if  he  might  call  the  next  day 
to  "renew  old  acquaintance."  She  shyly  an- 
swered "Yes."  He  asked  her  to  write  her  ad- 
dress in  his  book — he  had  a  wretched  memory. 

She  wrote  her  name,  of  course—  "  Sarah  Hunne- 
well."  And  so  he  learned  it,  the  sly  dog !  Later, 
in  response  to  a  neatly  worded  hint,  she  told 
him  that  she  was  a  newspaper  woman.  He  told 
her  he  had  read  most  of  her  articles.  He  loved 
literary  women.  Then  he  paid  the  bill  and 
added  a  munificent  tip.  Then  they  danced  some 
more.  He  kissed  her  once  or  twice  in  the  thick 
of  the  crowd — but  she  evidently  did  not  notice 
it.  Then  more  thirst. 

"A  pint  of  conversation  water,  papa,"  he  said 
to  their  old  waiter. 

"Only  quarts,  monsieur." 

"And  some  lobster  salad." 

66  Bon,  monsieur." 

The  engaged  couples  in  the  room  grew  more 
and  more  demonstrative.  Some  of  them  surely 
must  be  married.  But  the  newspaper  woman 
preserved  her  modest  dignity  even  when  he  said, 
a  little  thickly: 

"When  you're  in  rum,  do  as  the  rum  'uns  do." 

She  laughed,  even  longer  than  he  thought  the 


188 


flash  of  wit  deserved;  but  it  was  doubtless  only 
nervousness. 

Finally  she  asked  what  time*  it  was. 

"Only  half-past  four,"  he  said.  "The  night 
is  yet  young." 

When  the  waiter  had  brought  more  inspira- 
tion she  suddenly  proposed  a  scheme. 

"Let's  go  out  to  Claremont  for  breakfast." 

She  would  listen  to  nothing  but  her  own  plan; 
she  was  to  go  to  her  home  and  put  on  her  day 
clothes;  meanwhile  he  could  go  to  his  rooms 
and  doff  his  evening  splendors  for  a  business 
suit. 

First  a  farewell  dance.  So  he  paid  the  waiter 
again;  the  large  bill  required  a  large  tip.  The 
floor  was  a  scene  of  revel  now,  the  most  ingenu- 
ous love-making  being  interrupted  by  the  foot- 
ball rushes  of  groups  indulging  in  the  can-can. 
The  Chicagoan  had  his  toes  ground  to  a  pulp, 
and  his  companion  had  the  train  of  her  gown 
torn  off,  but  it  was  all  matter  only  for  laughter. 
At  five  o'clock  the  band,  with  brazen  irony, 
played  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  and  the  lights 
began  to  go  out. 

The  scramble  for  coats  and  wraps  was  a  good- 
humored  riot,  but  at  last  they  were  in  the  re- 
freshing, if  reproachful,  morning  air.  He  got 
a  cab  with  some  difficulty  and  drove  to  her  ad- 
dress. She  forbade  him  to  come  farther  than 
the  outer  door.  He  thought  he  noticed  the 
word  "Manicuring"  on  a  sign,  but  did  not  give 


's  (Barfcen  of 

it  a  second  thought.  He  drove  to  his  hotel;  the 
cabman's  bill  provoked  him  to  a  gasp  of  rage, 
but  he  preferred  not  to  discuss  the  matter  before 
the  gaping  porters  and  paid  his  duke's  ransom. 
He  flew  to  his  room,  threw  off  his  clothes,  looked 
sleepily  at  his  unruffled  bed,  threw  on  his  busi- 
ness togs  and  sallied  forth  again. 

The  newspaper  woman  was  nearly  ready  and 
he  hailed  a  hansom.  The  driver  looked  incred- 
ulous when  he  was  ordered  to  go  to  "Clare- 
mont;"  then  he  looked  wise  and  said  nothing. 

The  streets  were  growing  light  and  busy  with 
traffic.  The  newspaper  woman  let  him  hold  her 
hand;  but,  as  he  admitted  to  himself,  that  was 
rather  tame  deviltry.  At  length  they  reached 
Riverside  Drive,  and  she  was  rapturous  over  the 
glories  of  sunrise  reflected  from  the  Palisades. 
But  he  was  chiefly  amazed  by  the  heaviness  of 
his  eyelids  and  the  uncomfortable  tightness  of 
his  hat. 

Finally  they  arrived  at  the  old  colonial  home- 
stead once  occupied  by  Brother  Joseph  Bona- 
parte, temporary  King  of  Spain.  It  was  mod- 
eled and  named  after  Lord  Clive's  place  in 
Surrey,  but  now  serves  as  a  roadhouse  of  high- 
wayman expensiveness.  The  cabman  drove  up 
to  the  door.  There  was  an  ominous  lifelessness 
about  the  place.  Even  the  old-time  ghosts  had 
fled  at  cock-crow.  The  Chicagoan  mounted  the 
steps.  The  door  was  locked.  A  long  pounding 
brought  a  resentful  watchman. 


190  abe  IReal  1Rcw 

"Whatchyer  want?" 

"Breakfast,  you  fool!" 

"Come  back  at  half-past  eight.  The  cooks 
don't  get  here  for  two  hours." 

The  Chicagoan  looked  at  the  cabman. 
He  was  trying  to  swallow  a  smile  of  guilty 


'You  knew  it  all  the  time." 

"I  allers  obeys  orders,  sir,"  said  cabby. 

"Well,  where  can  we  get  breakfast?" 

"Childs's  or  Dennett's  is  open  all  night,"  said 
the  mirthful  cabby. 

"I'll  break  your  head!"  said  the  Chicagoan. 
"  Drive  back,  slowly." 

The  Chicagoan  would  rather  have  slept  than 
have  talked  to  the  Czarina  of  Russia.  But  he 
must  keep  awake.  The  beauties  of  dawn 
eventually  failed  as  a  topic  of  conversation. 
The  newspaper  woman  vainly  tried  to  turn  her 
yawns  into  little  sighs  of  ennui. 

At  last  they  found  a  restaurant.  The  cab- 
man made  a  staggering  demand,  and  when  Joyce 
protested  he  rattled  off  a  list  of  distances  and 
tariffs  that  hurt  the  Chicagoan's  head.  Then 
he  offered  to  drive  the  couple  to  the  police  station. 
This  adroit  suggestion  ended  the  argument. 
The  Chicagoan  peeled  off  the  bills  demanded. 
He  saw  to  his  dismay  that  he  had  just  two  dollars 
left.  They  entered  the  restaurant. 

All  the  chairs  were  piled  on  the  tables  ;  a 
waiter  flicked  a  mop  around  their  feet  with  un- 


IRew  UJorfc's  (Sarben  of  lEben      iai 

veiled  scorn.  He  could  tell  that  they  had  been 
up  all  night.  The  Chicagoan,  realizing  that 
he  had  only  two  dollars  with  him,  could  not 
afford  to  be  haughty. 

The  newspaper  woman  began  to  suggest 
breakfast. 

"First,  an  eye-opener,  eh?  Then  grape- 
fruit ?  a  little  breakfast  food  and  cream  ?  an 
omelette  ?  a  steak  smothered  in  mushrooms, 
some  potatoes  hashed  in  cream,  some  brandied 
peaches  and  some  dainty  wheat  cakes  ?  And, 
of  course,  a  pot  of  special  coffee.  How  does  that 
strike  you?" 

It  struck  the  Chicagoan  amidships  and  made 
his  mouth  water,  but  he  thought  of  his  two 
dollars.  He  usually  ate  a  breakfast  of  dinner 
proportions,  but  he  said: 

"  Since  I  was  in  Paris  I've  always  pre- 
ferred just  coffee  and  rolls." 

His  voice  was  husky  with  embarrassment, 
and  besides  he  had  caught  a  cold ! 

But  the  newspaper  woman  had  not  seen  the 
two-dollar  remnant.  She  ordered  what  she 
wanted.  Joyce  simply  took  coffee — and  stole 
one  of  her  rolls.  The  bill  was  $1.95.  The 
Chicagoan  found  in  his  pockets  thirty-five  cents 
in  silver.  He  gave  the  waiter  $2.25,  leaving 
his  assets  ten  cents,  his  liabilities —  ? 

When  they  left  the  restaurant  the  newspaper 
woman  said:  "There's  our  old  cabby.  We  can. 
call  him  again." 


192 


IRcal  IRcw  H?orh 


'The    street-cars    are     quicker,"     said    the 
Chicagoan,  in  a  desperate  tone. 

So  they  fought  their  way  on  to  a  crowded  car. 
She  got  a  strap,  and  he  clung  desperately  to  the 
platform.  When  they  reached  her  door  she 
told  him  good-bye  and  bade  him  call  again. 

He  promised  in  a  hoarse  and  raw-throated 
voice,  and  she  flitted  cheerily  up  the  stairs.  As 
he  turned  away  he  thought  it  over. 

"I  got  two  kisses  and  a  bad  cold,  and  it  cost 
me  only  $65.  But  what's  the  odds?  It's  a 
pleasure  to  meet  a  real  literary  person." 

He  glanced  cheerfully  back  over  his  shoulder— 
his  left  shoulder — and  staggered  as  he  read  in 
the  clear  light  of  day  this  little  sign: 


MlSS  HUNNEWELL, 

Manicuring. 


7*- 


AFTER  THE  BALL 


CHAPTER  X 

DOWNTOWN BOSTON  VS.    NEW   YORK THE    FARMER   AND 

THE     SCHOOLMARM    COME    TO     TOWN THE     BROADWAY 

CROWD A  TALL  BUILDING — A  CITY  UNDER  ONE  ROOF — 

THE  RISKS  OF  MODERN  CITY  LIFE "NEWSPAPER  ROW  " 

— THE  BROOKLYN  BRIDGE CITY    HALL    PARK A    MON- 
UMENT    TO     BOSS     TWEED THE     TOMBS     PRISON THE 

CRIMINAL   COURT  HOUSE THE  POST-OFFICE CROOKED 

ALLEYS  DOWNTOWN 

THE  man  from  Boston  had  met  De  Peyster 
looking  over  the  tape  from  a  stock 
ticker.  They  walked  along  together.  The 
man  from  Boston  was  theoretically  democratic, 
so  he  was  willing  to  risk  being  seen  with  a 
New  Yorker,  especially  as  it  gave  him  an  op- 
portunity to  indulge  in  his  local  custom;  for  the 
typical  Bostonian  will  never  say  anything  mean 
about  a  man  behind  his  back;  he  saves  it  to  tell 
him  to  his  face. 

He  was  informing  De  Peyster  what  a  horrible 
hole  New  York  is,  after  all — nothing  but  com- 
mercialism, no  Copley  Square  architecture,  no 
music,  no  "Pops,"  no  Kneisel  Quartet,  no 
Back  Bay,  no  Faneuil  Hall,  no  decent  beans, 
no  culture. 

De  Peyster  retorted  with  gay  condescen- 
sion: "Boston  is  a  tame,  old,  blue-goggly  vil- 
13 


194  £be  iReal  1Rew  |l)orfc 

lage,  a  sort  of  home  for  aged  and  indignant 
women  of  both  sexes,  with  a  proportion  of  one 
old  fogy  to  two  old  maids,  neither  of  them  good- 
looking  and  both  ill  dressed.  As  for  Boston 
culture,  it  is  of  the  Bunthorne  and  Lady  Jane 
type.  Besides,  Boston  is  now  only  the  'hub'  of 
a  fifth  wheel.  It  is  no  longer  even  a  literary 
centre,  for  all  the  literary  men  have  moved  to 
New  York,  except  two,  and  one  of  those  is  Bar- 
rett Wendell.  Boston's  noblest  contribution 
to  the  world  of  art  has  been  John  L.  Sullivan." 

The  academic  debate  was  broken  off  short  by 
the  Bostonian. 

"  Good  Lord !  there  goes  the  farmer  that  saved 
our  train  from  wreck." 

"  What  a  memory  you  have!"  said  De  Peyster. 

"I'm  from  Boston." 

"I  forgot;  Boston  is  nothing  but  a  memory." 

They  joined  the  increasing  knot  of  people  who 
were  following  the  farmer.  It  takes  an  unusual 
make-up  to  attract  notice  in  New  York,  but 
Silas  had  it.  He  looked  as  if  he  had  stepped 
out  of  a  musical  comedy. 

At  his  side  was  a  little,  roly-poly  apple  dump- 
ling of  a  woman,  who  was  pretty  in  spite  of  her 
old-fashioned  togs.  The  little  woman  was  try- 
ing to  remember  that  her  copy  of  "Don't!"  had 
said,  "  Don't  stare,"  but  Silas  was  all  agape;  even 
his  wide  mouth  stared  like  a  huge  Cyclops  eye. 

"Shall  we  speak  to  him?"  asked  De  Peyster. 
But  the  Bostonian  answered,  severely: 


downtown  195 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should  speak  to  a  man 
just  because  he  saved  my  life.  Besides,  I  gave 
him  a  tip  for  it." 

He  dragged  De  Peyster  into  a  convenient  cafe 
—in  New  York  there  is  usually  a  convenient  cafe. 

Then  Joyce  came  strolling  along,  killing  a 
little  time.  He  saw  the  farmer,  and  the  crowd 
after  him.  He  thought  of  retreating,  but  his 
sense  of  gratitude  was  not  yet  frittered  away, 
and,  advancing,  he  introduced  himself.  Silas 
was  overwhelmed  with  joy  at  finding  a  friend 
in  this  blizzard  of  strange  faces  swirling  round 
him.  He  said: 

"Mr.  Joyce,  shake  hands  with  Miss  Primrose; 
Miss  Primrose,  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Joyce. 
Miss  Primrose  is  the  school-teacher  down  our 
way.  When  I  got  that  money  fer  savin'  the 
train  an'  decided  to  take  a  trip  to  New  York, 
I  says  to  her,  'You  better  pack  yer  duds,  Sally, 
an'  come  along,'  s'l.  An'  come  she  did.  Folks 
down  our  way  says  we're  engaged.  I  ain't  sayin' 
ez  we  are  an'  I  ain't  sayin'  ez  we  are." 

Miss  Primrose  was  blushing  like  a  snow-apple 
and  Joyce's  fingers  twitched  to  tweak  her  most 
pinchable  cheeks.  But  Silas  broke  in: 

"  Oh,  say,  like's  not  you  k'n  tell  a  feller  haow 
fur  it  is  to  git  to  Broadway  street!" 

'Your  foot  is  covering  a  large  portion  of  it 
now,"  said  Joyce. 

'You  mean  to  tell  me  thet  this  here  street 
is  thet  there  Broadway  street  I've  hearn  tell  of 


196 

s'long  ?  Lan'  o'  Goshin !  if  't'd  'a'  be'n  a  snake 
't'd  'a'  'bit  my  fool  foot  off  'fore  naow.  Well, 
well,  well!  so  we're  on  Broadway  street  at  last! 
Jes'  see  the  peepil!" 

"Looks  like  church  was  lettin'  out  of  every 
buildin',"  ventured  Miss  Primrose,  with  delicious 
timidity. 

"An'  them  streets — looky  at  'em!  Why,  Paw- 
paw Center  on  Fourth  o'  July  ain't  a  patch  on 
it.  What's  the  special  occasion,  mister,  an' 
where's  all  these  peepil  goin'  so  goldurn  fast  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  just  the  ordinary  crowd,"  said  Joyce. 
"It's  like  this  every  day." 

"Go  on!  Ain't  enough  peepil  in  the  world 
to  keep  up  a  gait  like  this  long.  They'd  jest 
naturally  give  out.  And  would  you  looky  at 
them  teams — and  street  cars — where's  the  trol- 
ley ? — underground  ?  Go  on,  you  can't  fool  me ! 
Honest  ?  W'l,  I'll  be  durned ! 

"But,  speakin'  about  craowds,  a  feller  on  the 
train  tol'  me  they  was  a  feller  once  tried  to  cross 
Broadway,  an'  it  was  so  golblame  packed  he 
stood  on  the  sidewalk  an'  waited  twenty-four 
haours,  an'  when  finally  he  made  a  beeline,  gol- 
durned  if  a  street  car  an'  a  brewery  truck  didn't 
both  git  him! 

"Goshblame  my  punkin  seeds,  if  it  don't 
look  like  a  million  sardine  boxes  was  spillin'! 
An'  my  feet  are  so  sore  walkin'  on  stone.  Gee 
whiz!  ain't  they  no  board  walks  in  this 
town?" 


Downtown  197 

"What  do  you  think   of  the   tall 
buildings  ?"  said  Joyce. 

"  Ta-all  ?     Why,  if  you  piled  aour 
caounty  court  haouse  on  top  o'  the 
bank  buildin'  an'  the  Bap- 
tis'  church  atop  o'  that,  an' 
then  stuck  Josh  Bonstall's 
new  red  barn  on  the  steeple 
fer  good  measure,  'twould- 
n't  more'n  make  a  foun- 
FROM  THE  TWENTIETH  FLOOR     dation  for  one  of  these  here 

skys  weepers       o'      yourn. 

Fust  one  I  see,  I  leaned  so  durned  fur  back 
tryin'  to  see  plum  to  the  top  of  it  that  I  fell 
over  back'ards." 

"Chicago  is  the  town  that  put  up  the  first 
skyscrapers,"  said  Joyce,  proudly;  "but  New 
York  is  a  close  second  now.  Would  you  like 
to  go  to  the  top  of  one  of  them  ?  " 

Silas  looked  dubiously  at  Miss  Primrose, 
hoping  that  she  would  be  afraid;  but  she  was 
game,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  show  his  fear. 
Joyce  led  them  to  the  American  Tract  Society 
Building  in  Nassau  Street.  Silas  said,  anx- 
iously : 

"Don't  these  things  ever  fall  over?  Kind  o' 
like  livin'  in  a  chimbley  flue." 

Joyce  led  them  to  the  elevators  and  chose  an 
express.  The  door  slammed  shut,  and  the 
elevator  man  made  an  extra  fast  start  for  the 
benefit  of  the  visitors.  As  the  car  shot  upward 


198  Gbe  IReal 

at  the  rate  of  700  feet  a  minute,  both  Silas  and 
Sally  sat  down  hard,  or  rather  the  car  brought 
their  feet  up  against  their  spines  with  a  jolt. 
They  looked  scared  and  rose  with  difficulty. 
They  had  experienced  one  of  the  newest  sensa- 
tions science  has  given  to  man. 

"Feels  like  bein'  bio  wed  up  by  a  bomb,"  said 
Si.  "  Hope  I  don't  come  daown  in  pieces." 

The  car  came  to  a  short  stop,  and  Joyce  led 
his  bewildered  guests  out  to  another  elevator 
that  went  still  higher.  On  the  twenty-second 
story  was  a  restaurant  in  which  the  prices  are 
not  so  aerial  as  its  nest.  The  visitors  declined 
with  deep  earnestness  Joyce's  suggestion  that 
they  put  any  food  into  their  dismayed  interiors. 
The  landscape  was  the  most  substantial  thing 
they  could  stomach. 

In  this  place  the  meek-salaried  clerk  can  take 
his  lunch  and  gaze  out  on  a  view  that  Cheops 
might  have  envied  for  all  his  pyramid.  The 
map  of  the  region  was  as  plain  as  from  a  balloon. 
To  the  west  the  Hudson,  here  called  the  North 
River,  flowed  into  the  bay,  and  across  its 
crowded  current  the  Jersey  cities  rose,  and  far 
back  of  them  one  could  see  to  the  Orange 
Mountains.  In  the  bay  a  huge  13,000-ton 
ocean  liner  was  pushing  out  and  another  edging 
in.  Liberty  rose  in  all  her  pride;  round  her 
were  anchored  the  tramp  steamers  of  the  coast, 
the  unloaded  ones  showing  a  wide  margin  of 
red  hull,  the  others  weighted  deep  with 


Downtown  199 

merchandise  for  South  America  and  the 
Indies. 

Governor's  Island,  with  its  garrison,  lay  like 
an  emerald  on  the  blue  bay.  To  the  west,  Long 
Island  Sound,  here  called  the  East  River, 
swerved  round,  cutting  off  the  crowded  plains 
and  hills  of  Brooklyn. 

From  here  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  revealed  the 
majesty  of  its  grace,  a  rainbow  of  steel,  its  great 
cables  draped  like  festal  ornaments  and  giving 
no  hint  that  all  this  multitude  of  crowded  trains 
and  almost  continuous  cars  was  hung  from  their 
strength.  Far  to  the  north  rose  the  Williams- 
burg  Bridge,  an  ugly  mechanism  in  contrast  with 
the  noble  towers  and  the  epic  sweep  of  the  Brook- 
lyn Bridge,  that  most  beautiful  of  the  world's 
bridges,  though  the  High  and  the  Washington 
Bridges  across  the  Harlem  are  almost  as  fair  to 
see. 

At  this  moment  a  warship  was  issuing  from 
the  Navy  Yard.  It  was  one  of  the  veterans  of 
the  White  Squadron,  so  swanlike  and  snowy 
that  one  could  not  believe  it  had  spouted  de- 
struction off  Santiago. 

To  the  north  lay,  mile  on  mile,  the  multi- 
tudinous roofs  of  Manhattan,  clear-cut  under 
the  clear  sky  in  the  clear  air.  Mute  at  this  dis- 
tance, its  streets  were  ravines,  its  infinite  towers 
peaks  crowded  together  to  the  dim  crag  of  the 
Flatiron,  and  on,  on  beyond.  Not  the  least  of 
the  triumphs  of  the  city's  Board  of  Health  has 


200  £be  IReal  IRew  Jflorfc 

been  its  crusade  in  favor  of  hard  coal.  Joyce 
alone,  from  his  soft-coal  smudge  of  Chicago, 
could  rate  at  its  true  value  the  absence  of  black 
clouds  of  smoke.  So  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
the  air  was  undefiled  of  soot.  Only  here  and 
there  little  jets  of  steam  wavered  into  nothing- 
ness— the  beautiful  white  plumes  of  New  York. 
When  Silas  and  Sally  had  oh'd  and  ah'd  their 
hearts  out  over  the  Pisgah-sight  of  the  Promised 
Land,  the  practical,  the  statistical  Joyce  brought 
them  back  to  facts.  He  pointed  out  other  tall 
buildings  —  the  American  Surety  Company's 
tower,  of  just  the  same  height  as  theirs,  306  feet; 
the  Commercial  Cable,  twenty-one  stories  high; 
the  Potter  Trust,  293  feet  high;  the  St.  Paul,  of 
twenty-six  stories  or  308  feet;  the  twenty-two- 
story  Pulitzer,  or  World  Building,  with  its  gold 
dome,  once  a  landmark  from  afar,  now  lost  in 
the  giant  forest;  and  the  twin-towered  Park  Row, 
of  twenty-nine  stories,  the  highest  inhabited 
building  in  the  world,  the  top  of  the  flagstaff  be- 
ing 447  feet  from  the  ground,  its  foundations  75 
feet  below  that.  Its  weight  is  40,000,000  pounds. 
It  contains  950  offices,  2,080  windows  and  3,500 
tenants.  Its  elevators  carry  48,860  persons  a 
week,  yet  one  of  the  car  starters  knows  the  floor 
and  room  of  every  one  of  its  tenants.  Its  annual 
rental  is  $318,010,  its  operating  expenses  $141,- 
£35  a  year.  The  building  and  the  land  cost 
$4,000,000.  The  Broad  Exchange,  though  only 
286  feet  high,  has  the  largest  floor  space  in  the 


downtown  201 

world — 27,000  square  feet  on  each  of  its  twenty 
stories,  each  of  which  measures  236x106  feet,  with 
a  100-foot  wing.  It  cost  $7,500,000. 

Joyce  explained  that  some  of  these  buildings 
are  cities  in  themselves,  with  populations  of 
thousands  each,  and  almost  all  the  industries  of 
a  city,  including  libraries,  notaries,  barber  shops, 
restaurants,  flower  shops,  news-stands,  confec- 
tioners, doctors,  bankers,  tailors,  special  police, 
safe  deposit  vaults,  telegraph  offices,  water 
works  and  light  plants. 

The  Manhattan  Life  has  its  own  artesian  well ; 
the  Metropolitan  Life  draws  its  water  from  a 
stream,  now  covered,  that  once  ran  from  Madi- 
son Square  to  the  East  River.  In  many  of  them 
there  have  been  even  graver  problems  of  engi- 
neering than  the  construction  of  those  "  steel 
bridges  stood  on  end  "  which  America  has  con- 
tributed to  the  history  of  architecture,  and  for 
which  Europe  has  revived  the  epithet  Cyclo- 
pean. The  foundations  of  many  of  them  go 
down  seventy-five  feet  or  more,  those  of  the 
Commercial  Cable  reaching  one  hundred  and 
six  feet  below  the  surface,  the  engineer's  room 
being  forty  feet  under  the  sidewalk.  Quicksands 
have  furnished  a  puzzle  for  many  and  almost 
doubled  the  cost  of  certain  structures.  The 
American  Surety  rests  on  subterranean  columns, 
these  on  piers  and  these  on  caissons  reaching  to 
the  eternal  bedrock.  Here  a  cantilever  has  been 
employed  to  shift  some  of  the  weight  of  the 


202  £be  iReal  IRcw  JPorfc 

outer  walls  toward  the  centre.  The  Standard 
Oil  Building,  at  No.  26  Broadway,  was  originally 
nine  stories  high.  When  it  was  decided  to  add 
six  more  it  was  felt  that  the  old  walls  would  not 
stand  the  added  weight,  and  it  was  found  nec- 
essary to  buy  a  lot  to  the  north  and  erect  there 
a  steel  building  with  a  cantilever  projecting  over 
the  old  walls,  and  on  this  were  hung  the  six  new 
stories. 

When  the  Mutual  Life  wished  to  add  an  an- 
nex costing  $2,500,000  it  was  necessary  to  un- 
derpin an  eighteen-story  neighbor  so  perfectly 
as  not  to  disturb  the  vaults  of  a  safe  deposit 
company  therein;  its  locks  would  have  been  set 
fast  had  the  walls  settled  the  sixteenth  of  an 
inch. 

The  rapidity  with  which  these  steel  mushrooms 
spring  up  is  astounding;  the  stone  or  brick  walls 
being  used  only  as  a  sheath  and  not  for  support, 
they  are  hung  on  the  steel  frame;  consequently 
one  may  see  the  stone  masons  at  work  on  the 
third  and  tenth  stories  before  the  second  and 
the  ninth  are  touched.  They  may  be  lathing 
and  plastering  one  story  while  the  outer  walls 
of  the  one  below  it  are  being  added. 

In  spite  of  the  genius  of  the  engineers,  the 
problem  of  wind  pressure  is  not  yet  solved,  and, 
for  all  their  strength,  some  of  these  buildings 
vibrate  in  a  storm  until  water  is  shaken  in  a 
bowl  and  pendulum  clocks  are  stopped.  But 
they  are  believed  to  be  none  the  less  safe  for 


IDowntown  203 

this;  and  the  highest  offices  are  in  no  less  de- 
mand than  those  nearer  the  ground. 

The  imagination  shivers  at  the  thought  of  fire 
at  these  heights;  but,  while  many  lives  have 
been  lost  in  three-story  dwellings,  no  one  has 
yet  been  burned  to  death  above  the  fifteenth 
story,  and  the  few  fires  that  have  assailed  these 
structures  have  usually  died  in  the  floor  of  their 
origin. 

Courage,  like  everything  else,  is  a  matter  of 
custom,  and  were  Achilles  revived  to-day  he 
would  flee  in  hinnulean  terror  from  conditions 
before  which  the  most  flebile  stenographer  of 
to-day  does  not  blink.  Indeed,  the  very  cross- 
ing of  a  street  where  trolleys  hustle,  huge  trucks 
rumble  and  automobiles  snarl  would  doubtless 
set  the  fierce-hearted  Greek  to  wishing  again 
for  the  tame  delights  of  his  daily  calisthenics  be- 
fore the  walls  of  Troy. 

The  wonders  of  our  skyscraping  civilization 
are  impressive  enough  to  the  most  blase  city 
mouse;  to  Silas,  fresh  from  the  farm,  and  Sally, 
just  from  the  village  school,  they  were  stupefac- 
tion. They  could  think  only  of  the  Tower  of 
Babel  and  wonder  when  the  Lord  would  curse 
the  city  with  the  confusion  of  tongues.  When 
later  they  visited  the  East  Side  they  found  the 
curse  in  full  operation. 

At  length  Joyce  consented  to  take  them  back 
to  terra  firma.  They  stepped  timidly  into  the 
express  elevator,  remembering  their  former  sen- 


204  £be  iReal  IRew 

sations;  but  the  previous  skyrocket  leap  was 
nothing  to  the  sickening  drop.  Si  and  Sally 
clasped  each  other  as  in  a  dying  embrace.  When 
they  reached  the  end  of  the  drop  they  were 
amazed  to  find  themselves  still  alive,  but  their 
souls  were  full  of  nausea. 

"Feel  'zif  I'd  left  my  stummick  up  on  the 
roof,"  said  Silas. 

Joyce  explained  the  system  of  automatic 
clutches  meant  to  stop  the  cars  in  case  of  acci- 
dent and  the  air  wells  that  offer  a  pneumatic 
cushion  as  a  last  resort. 

But  Silas  was  still  somewhat  shaky  about  the 
knees. 

"  S'posin'  everything  broke,  what  ought  a  fel- 
ler to  do  ?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"Just  before  you  strike  bottom  jump  up  in 
the  air  and  click  your  heels  together,"  said  Joyce. 
"Then  you'll  have  only  two  feet  or  so  to  fall." 

"Good  idee!  if  a  feller  could  think  of  it — and 
do  it,"  said  Silas. 

Joyce  pointed  out  to  them  the  clusters  of 
newspaper  buildings  round  Printing  House 
Square — the  Sun  (in  the  original  Tammany 
Hall  building);  the  Journal  and  the  Tribune 
strangely  consorting  together;  the  World,  the 
Press,  the  Globe,  the  Staats-Zeitung,  the  New 
Yorker  Her  old.  The  Evening  Post  and  the 
Mail  are  not  far  away,  though  the  Times  and 
the  Herald  have  fled  north,  as  eventually  all 
will  do.  All  day  these  caldrons  of  "News- 


IDowntown  205 

paper  Row"  pour  forth  clouds  of  editions,  and 
lawless  mobs  of  newsboys,  crying  ''Waxty! 
huxty!  hexty!  wexty!" — anything  but  "extra  !"- 
fight  over  any  stranger  who  carries  his  hand  to 
his  pocket.  From  this  hub  carts  and  automo- 
biles go  racing  northward  to  the  upper  centres 
and  to  the  trains  with  every  edition. 

Here  are  the  bulletin  boards  where  the  re- 
turns from  prize-fights,  ball  games,  yacht  races 
and  other  events  are  posted.  In  election  times 
the  whole  square  is  one  viscous  mass  of  be- 
ribboned  and  campaign  -  buttoned  humanity, 
cheering  or  booing  the  news  from  various  re- 
mote districts,  laughing  at  the  caricatures  or 
the  moving  pictures  interlarded  for  entertain- 
ment between  telegrams,  and  keeping  up  a 
pandemonium  of  tin  horns  and  rattles  and  good 
nature,  however  the  issue  may  waver. 

In  this  square  are  the  statues  of  those  two  old 
journalists,  Benjamin  Franklin  and  Horace 
Greeley;  the  statue  of  the  latter,  by  J.  Q.  A. 
Ward,  being  a  work  of  real  charm,  though  an- 
other statue  of  the  same  man  in  Greeley  Square 
at  Thirty-third  Street  is  one  of  the  worst  atroci- 
ties in  the  city. 

Joyce  took  them  for  a  little  walk  out  on  the 
promenade  of  Brooklyn  Bridge,  through  the 
crowds  that  fought  for  places  on  the  various 
cars,  though  at  this  hour  they  could  not  see  the 
ferocious  struggle  for  life  that  goes  on  at  the 
evening  rush  hour.  The  countryfolk  found  it 


206  £be  IReal 

impossible  to  believe  that  this  great  causeway 
could  be  thus  hung  in  midair  by  ropes  strung 
across  two  piers.  They  grew  dizzy  looking 
down  upon  the  boats  135  feet  below,  and 
sickened  at  that  mighty  forward  movement  one 
feels  on  a  bridge,  trembling  at  the  little  in- 
sistent temptation  to  jump.  They  held  each 
other's  hands  for  mutual  security. 

Joyce  told  them  all  the  statistics  of  the  thirteen 
years  (1870-1883),  and  the  fifteen  million  dollars 
spent  on  the  bridge,  with  subsequent  charges 
costing  six  millions  more.  The  centre  span 
between  the  278-foot  towers  is  1,595  feet  long- 
next  to  the  longest  span  in  the  world.  The 
total  length  of  the  bridge  is  6,537  feet,  about  a 
mile  and  a  quarter.  The  cables  are  13|  inches 
thick,  each  made  of  5,296  steel  wires,  each  wire 
capable  of  holding  3,400  pounds;  in  length  they 
make  a  total  of  3,515  miles  wrapped  with  243 
miles.  Each  cable  is  3,578^  feet  long;  and  is 
anchored  in  a  great  mass  of  masonry  weighing 
1,000,000  pounds.  Each  of  the  four  cables 
weighs  6,800,000  pounds,  and  will  support 
12,000  tons.  Thousands  of  trolley  cars  cross 
every  day,  and  the  daily  number  of  passen- 
gers is  200,000. 

The  Williamsburg  Bridge  is  a  little  longer 
and  cost  only  $12,000,000,  but  it  will  never 
have  the  beauty  of  this  bridge,  which  has 
long  been  considered  one  of  the  wonders  of  the 
world.  New  York  should  have  twenty  more 


^Downtown 


207 


bridges — and  will,  in  time — but  spanning  these 
wide,  swift,  deep  channels  is  very  different  from 
throwing  an  arch  across  the  many  -  bridged 
Seine  or  the  narrow  Thames.  This  is  proved  by 
the  fact  that  the  two  bridges  now  built  have  the 
longest  spans  in  the  world. 

Proud    in    his    importance    as    guide,    Joyce 
piloted  his   dumfounded  clients  back  into  City 
Hall  Park,  where  they  found  some  restoration 
of  balance  in  the  sight  of  trees  and  grass — as  rare 
to  New  Yorkers  as  the  other  wonders  to  the 
rurals.     But  they  were  too  much  upset  by  the 
titanic    neighborhood    to    appreciate    the    rare 
beauty  of  the  City  Hall,  once  a  building  of  civic 
glory — when  the  town  was  smaller — now  an  ob- 
ject  of   almost  tiny   charms,   like   a  miniature 
temple   in   a   Japanese  toy  garden.     But  small 
as  it  is,  it  is  the  delight  of  architects  and  con- 
noisseurs; though  its  cupola  is  an  inferior 
restoration    of    the    original,    which  was 
burnt  during  the  fireworks  festival  over 
the  laying  of  the  Atlantic  Cable 
in  1858. 

City  Hall  is  all  of  white 
marble,  except  the  rear  wall, 
which  is  of  freestone,  as  it  was 
not  thought  worth  while  spend- 
ing marble  on  the  poor  trash 
that  would  live  farther  north. 
It  was  in  1812  that  Architect 
John  McComb's  plans  were  IN  THE  ASTOR  LIBRARY 


t -I- 


208  Gbe  iReal  IRcw  H?orfc 

thus  finished.  To-day  City  Hall  is  far  down- 
town and  the  city  limits  are  sixteen  miles 
north.  The  design  of  the  building  is  supposedly 
based  on  Inigo  Jones's  plans  for  the  Whitehall 
Palace,  of  which  the  Banqueting  House  alone 
was  built.  Classic  ratios  and  proportions  dis- 
tinguish this  work,  and  its  columns  especially 
are  perfect. 

Nearby  stands  the  memorial  statue  of 
Nathan  Hale,  one  of  the  earliest  martyrs  of 
independence,  a  young,  twenty-one-year-old 
school-teacher  forced  to  act  as  a  spy,  and  be- 
trayed by  his  notes  in  Latin.  Every  American 
knows  the  story  of  his  execution  in  the  apple 
orchard  that  stood  on  the  spot  now  known  as 
First  Avenue  and  Forty-fifth  Street.  Every 
American  knows  his  death- words :  "  I  regret  that 
I  have  but  one  life  to  lose  for  my  country." 
There  exists  no  portrait  of  Nathan  Hale,  and  the 
sculptor,  Frederick  Macmonnies,  has  been  free 
to  represent  his  ideal  of  the  American  face.  He 
has  achieved  a  distinct  type,  not  Greek,  Roman, 
French  or  English,  but  American. 

Inside  City  Hall  are  Washington's  desk  and 
table  and  many  other  relics.  Back  of  City  Hall 
—  across  the  politicians'  haunt  known  as  "  Hand- 
Shaking  Alley"  —is  the  County  Court  House,  for 
which  "  Boss  "  Tweed  charged  the  city  $12,000,- 
000— $3,000,000  of  it  for  plastering.  The 
exposure  of  this  deal  cost  him  his  throne.  To 
the  east  stood  till  recently  the  dingy  Hall  of 


AROUND  THE  TICKER 


Downtown 


209 


Records,  built  in  1762  and  used  by  the  English 
in  the  Revolutionary  War  as  a  place  for  starv- 
ing American  prisoners — a  rival  of  the  horrible 
prison  ship  that  floated  in  the  waters  nearby. 
A  new  Hall  of  Records  is 
nearly  finished  and  plans  are 
on  foot  for  building  one 
great  central  municipal  struc- 
ture of  magnificent  propor- 
tions, one  that  will  vie  with 
the  stature  of  the  business 
blocks. 

Another  disappearance  is 
the  old  Tombs  prison,  which 
was  genuinely  picturesque 
and  gruesome  in  its  thor- 
oughly Egyptian  style.  It 
is  replaced  by  a  modern  structure  a  short 
distance  north  of  City  Hall  and  is  connected  by 
bridge  of  sighs"  with  the  Criminal  Courts 


A    NEW  YORKER 


a 


Building,  where  the  visions  of  misery  are  relieved 
by  the  superb  mural  decorations  of  Edward  Sim- 
mons— well  worth  going  to  jail  to  see. 

This  building  covers  ground  once  filled  with 
the  pond  called  the  Collect,  a  famous  fishing  and 
skating  resort,  where  George  IV  was  almost 
drowned  while  skating  as  a  middy,  and  where, 
in  1789,  John  Fitch  made  the  first  successful 
voyage  with  a  model  steamboat. 

Joyce  led  his  footsore  visitors  next  to  the  Post- 

Office,  a  building  of  unusual  design  and  not  half 
14 


210  £be  IReal  IRcw 

so  hideous  as  many  of  its  critics  pretend.  Its 
real  fault  is  its  inadequacy  to  the  needs  of  New 
York,  whose  miserable  postal  service  is  far  be- 
hind that  of  most  American  towns  and  still 
farther  behind  the  splendidly  quick  services  of 
Paris  and  of  London.  Yet  the  New  York  Post- 
Office  is  one  of  the  few  in  the  United  States  that 
shows  a  profit  in  its  annual  twelve  million  dollars 
of  income  from  its  ten  million  pieces  of  mail 
matter  handled  every  day. 

Opposite  it  is  the  tame  old  hostelry,  the  Astor 
House,  once  as  famous  throughout  the  country 
as  the  New  York  Weekly  Tribune.  Joyce  led 
his  little  army  down  Nassau  Street,  narrow  and 
twisting  as  are  few  of  New  York's  streets  and 
most  of  London's.  In  this  shadowy  gorge,  with 
its  alternative  of  skyish  shafts  and  old  rookeries 
filled  with  old  bookeries,  everyone  walks  in  the 
roadway.  This  is  one  of  the  few  districts 
where  it  is  possible  for  even  the  most  stupid 
stranger  to  lose  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XI 


MONEY THE     CHAMBER     OP     COMMERCE THE     CLEARING 

HOUSE THE  SUB-TREASURY THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE 

THE        PRODUCE         EXCHANGE THE         WHEAT         PIT 

FRAUNCES'S    TAVERN 


AT  Liberty  Street  Joyce  turned  aside  to 
show  them  the  Chamber  of  Commerce, 
the  white  marble  palace  of  an  association  of  mer- 
chants organized  in  1768  and  devoted  to  the 
expansion  of  commerce.  Its  famous  annual 
banquets  are  held  in  a  great  hall  ninety  feet  long 
and  sixty  feet  wide  and  thirty  feet  high.  On 
its  walls  is  a  gallery  of  the  portraits  of  the  great 
merchants  who  have  heaped  up  the  spoils  of 
peace. 

But  when  he  turned  into  Cedar  Street  and 
pointed  out  the  gleamingly  beautiful  temple  of 
finance,  the  Clearing  House,  Silas  and  Sally  were 
less  overwhelmed  by  the  poetic  glow  of  R.  W. 
Gibson's  noble  design  than  by  Joyce's  statement 
that  it  had  cost  $1,120,000  to  build,  and  that  it 
serves  as  a  sort  of  cheque  exchange,  where  the 
money  due  from  each  bank  is  taken  from  the 
money  due  to  it  and  the  difference  paid  by 
cheque  or  cash,  the  average  daily  clearings 
amounting  to  $230,000,000— forty-five  per  cent. 


212  abe  iReal  1Rew  J^orfc 

more  than  those  of  London.  In  one  day,  May 
10th,  1901,  $598,537,409  changed  hands  under 
its  soaring  dome. 

Joyce  led  on  to  Wall  Street,  hardly  so  much  a 
street  as  an  institution,  a  name  of  world-wide 
omen.  Here  is  the  Sub-Treasury,  a  branch  of 
the  United  States  Mint.  Sometimes  $225,000,- 
000  in  actual  coin  are  stored  in  this  stone  fortress, 
built  for  siege,  and  armed  with  three  Gatlings 
and  other  weapons,  including  hand-grenades,  to 
be  dropped  from  various  loopholes. 

All  millions  look  alike  to  the  average  mind, 
and  once  the  sixth  cipher  has  been  added  a  few 
units  more  or  less  make  no  impression  on  the 
benumbed  intellect.  The  jaws  and  eyes  of 
Silas  and  Sally  had  fallen  as  far  as  possible  with- 
out ripping,  at  the  first  flight  into  the  higher 
numerals.  What  more  Joyce  told  them  was 
hardly  understood  or  felt. 

They  were  less  interested  in  his  statement  that 
the  Sub-Treasury  had  cashed  cheques  for  sums 
as  high  as  $30,000,000  than  in  learning  why  the 
calves  of  the  heroic  bronze  Washington  were  all 
glistening,  though  the  rest  of  him  was  dull. 
Joyce  was  forced  to  ask  a  passer-by,  who  told  him 
that  the  newsboys  playing  tag  about  the  pedestal 
had  worn  their  country's  father's  stockings  shiny. 

It  was  on  this  very  spot,  when  New  York  was 
the  capital  of  the  United  States,  that  Washing- 
ton took  the  oath  of  office,  April  30,  1789,  as 
the  first  President.  Little  he  could  have  thought 


flDonc? 


213 


A    NEW 
YORKER 


that  in  a  hundred  and  twelve  years  the  shaky 
little  federation,  with  its  bin  full  of  trouble  and 
empty  of  money,  would  become  a  world  power 
and  New  York  City  the  financial  centre  of  the 
globe.  How  he  would  have  relished  at  Valley 
Forge,  or  during  the  mutiny  of 
unpaid  officers,  some  of  those 
millions  of  coin  on  which  he 
turns  his  back  to-day ! 

Next  door  is  the  still  older 
building,  the  Assay  Office,  a 
sort  of  magic  dairy  where  they 
make  cheeses  of  solid  silver  and 
skim  off  the  cream  of  molten 
gold.  Joyce  took  the  rurals 
within  and  reveled  in  the  hyp- 
notism that  came  over  them  in  gazing  at  heaped- 
up  slabs  of  the  precious  yellow.  Silas  was  per- 
mitted to  handle  one  bar  worth  $7,000.  He 
patted  it  fondly  and  sighed: 

"So  this  is  one  of  them  gold  bricks  I'm  al- 
ways readin'  about!  Gosh!  I'd  like  to  own 
one." 

A  little  later  he  did.  It  was  sold  to  him  on  a 
side  street  at  a  great  bargain  by  an  obliging  gen- 
tleman who  needed  a  little  ready  money. 

From  this  home  of  real  money  Joyce  led  Silas 
and  Sally  to  the  cyclone  centre  of  auriferous 
winds,  the  Stock  Exchange,  where  men  grow 
fabulously  rich  or  plunge  into  direst  bank- 
ruptcy without  seeing  or  touching  so  much  as  a 


214  abe  IReal  IRcw  JOorfc 

ten-dollar  bill;  often  with  no  more  sign  of 
triumph  or  disaster  than  a  nod  of  the  head  and 
a  penciled  memorandum  in  a  pocket  notebook. 

Joyce  had  secured  a  card  of  admission  to  the 
Visitors'  Gallery  from  a  broker  who  had  bought 
what  they  call  a  "seat";  that  is,  he  had  paid 
$75,000  for  the  privilege  of  standing  up  in  a 
frantic  mob  and  joining  in  a  continuous  college 
yell  and  cane  rush  from  10  to  3  every  day. 

The  new  building  of  the  Stock  Exchange  is  a 
palatial  affair,  with  its  Greek  columns  and 
colossal  pediment  group.  It  is  in  New  Street 
now,  but  it  still  means  Wall  Street  to  the  nation. 
As  the  three  went  up  in  the  elevator  to  the  Vis- 
itors' Gallery  Silas  said,  with  all  the  rapture  of 
one  born  inland : 

"The  ocean  must  be  nearby.  Listen,  Sally; 
you  can  hear  the  roar  of  the  breakers." 

"No;  that's  the  roar  of  the  brokers,"  said 
Joyce. 

They  stepped  into  the  gallery  opening  on  the 
lofty  and  brilliant  amphitheatre  of  multi-colored 
marbles.  Everywhere  little  messengers  were 
flashing  like  minnows  in  a  disturbed  pool. 
Numberless  telephone  bells  were  tingling  like 
mad.  On  one  of  the  walls  little  blackboards 
were  falling  silently  and  closing  mysteriously 
again,  showing  for  a  moment  various  numbers- 
signals  to  individual  members  that  they  are 
wanted  at  the  door.  On  the  walls  only  was 
silence,  and  at  the  huge  windows,  where  floods 


flfeone?  215 

of  light  poured  in  on  a  scene  of  Bacchic  orgy. 
On  the  floor,  littered  with  papers  and  raucous 
humanity,  were  little  posts  carrying  legends  like 
cross-road  signboards.  Some  of  these  were 
deserted.  Round  others  there  was  a  merry 
hullabaloo  of  screaming,  shrieking,  jumping, 
hysterical  mankind  shaking  their  fingers  in  one 
another's  face.  A  hundred  auctioneers  were 
barking  their  wares  madly  in  one  another's  teeth. 

"Gosh!  there's  goin'  to  be  a  terrible  fight,'.' 
said  Silas.  "Why  don't  they  call  in  the  police 
or  the  militia  ?" 

Joyce  explained  that  the  men  were  all  the  best 
of  friends,  amiably  trying  to  <"\it  each  other's 
financial  throats.  Practical  jokes  and  bank- 
ruptcy alternated.  An  absent-minded  member 
strolled  on  in  a  tall  hat — he  was  due  a  little  later 
at  an  afternoon  tea.  A  gang  of  millionaires  for- 
got their  dazzling  profits  and  proceeded  to  smash 
the  hat  over  his  ears,  then  wrenched  it  loose  and 
played  football  with  it. 

A  quiet  individual  sauntered  to  one  of  the 
deserted  signboards  and  suddenly  went  insane. 
He  began  to  yell  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  The  mob 
forgot  its  football  and  rushed  upon  him,  not  to 
restrain  his  frenzy  but  to  catch  it  and  howl  him 
down,  like  a  pack  of  wolves.  Joyce  tried  to  ex- 
plain it,  but  his  talk  of  bulls  and  bears  and  lambs 
only  mystified  them. 

"I've  heard  of  live  stock,"  said  Silas,  "but 
that's  the  liveliest  stock  I've  saw  outside 


216  abe  IReal  1Rev*> 

of  the  time  three  of  our  caows  got  the  hydro- 
phoby." 

Joyce  then  turned  to  a  discussion  of  margins, 
covering  shortages,  being  long  of  the  market  and 
other  terms  more  bewildering  than  Coptic,  since 
the  very  simplicity  of  the  terms  made  their  tech- 
nical meanings  more  cryptic.  He  tried  to  show 
how  this  crowd  of  men,  this  money  club,  had 
the  purse  of  the  nation  in  its  clutch — greediness 
or  crime  or  conspiracy  here  affects  the  prosperity 
of  every  man  in  the  country.  Finally  Miss  Prim- 
rose said: 

"All  I  know  is  I've  got  a  headache  and  I'd 
like  to  go  somewhere  and  cry !"  She  was  revived 
by  the  air  in  the  slim  street,  crowded  with  men 
and  with  rarely  a  sign  of  horse  or  vehicle. 

A  visit  to  the  Produce  Exchange  might  be 
more  understandable,  Joyce  thought,  and  he  took 
them  to  the  monstrous  barracks  in  Whitehall 
Street,  where  the  arena  is  larger  than  any  other 
save  Madison  Square  Garden.  Here  three  thou- 
sand members  handle  an  annual  business  of  a 
billion  dollars.  On  this  wide  floor,  with  its  long 
sample-tables  and  other  conveniences,  a  man 
may  receive  a  cable  ordering  a  shipload  of  wheat; 
without  leaving  the  floor  he  can  buy  the  wheat, 
rent  an  elevator,  hire  a  ship,  insure  the  cargo, 
sell  his  exchange  and  cable  back  his  prices  and 
the  date  of  arrival. 

Silas  understood  a  little  more  of  this,  and  the 
oval  "wheat  pit"  meant  much  to  him,  for  here 


217 


met  the  friends  and  enemies  of  his  ideal  of  "  dol- 
lar wheat"  in  deadly  wrestle  day  by  day.  The 
struggles  here  over  flour,  lard,  butter,  cheese, 
seed,  hay  and  other  provisions  were  struggles  for 
or  against  his  own  prosperity,  but  the  total  out- 
puts of  his  daily  battle  with  soil  and  season  were 
so  petty  in  comparison  with  the  masses  tossed 
about  in  this  place  that  he  grew  wroth. 

"I  bet  nary  one  of  them  dudes  knows  which 
end  of  a  hoe  is  the  handle,  and  couldn't  tell  bar- 
ley from  beans;  but  they  kin  make  or  break  me 
with  a  few  yelps.  Listen  to  them  pups  try  in'  to 
holler  down  the"  price  of  lard.  How  do  they 
reckon  I'm  goin'  to  pay  off  my  mortgage  ?" 

Silas  was  tempted  to  whip  off  his  coat  and 
descend  in  person.  But  Joyce  and  Sally  per- 
suaded him  out  of  the 
zone  of  excitement, 
and  a  visit  to  the 
tower  with  the  sweep- 
ing view  of  the  waters  thick 
with  hurrying  ships  and  the 
streets  black  with  human 
ants  desperately  intent  on 
the  problems  of  wealth, 
lifted  him  from  the  indi- 
vidual to  the  general,  made 
him  feel  trivial  as  a  single 
being,  yet  exultant  as  a  unit 
in  this  mighty  cosmic  ma- 
chinery. 


THE  CHART  EXPERT  ON 
'CHANGE 


218 


IReal  IRcvo  }l)orfc 


From  the  Produce  Exchange  they  strolled  to 
the  nearby  Fraunces's  Tavern,  built  in  1730  and 
opened  as  an  inn  by  Samuel  Fraunces  in  1762. 
On  the  second  floor  they  stood  awestruck  in 
the  long  room,  where,  on  Evacuation  Day  in 
1783,  when  the  last  British  soldier  had  marched 
away  forever,  the  Continental  officers  gathered 
to  celebrate  the  victory  of  their  seven  years' 
warfare.  They  had  been  less  happy  over  their 
triumph  than  sad  over  the  end  of  their  sacred 
comradeship  in  the  cause  of  freedom.  In  this 
room  Washington  wept  as  he  bade  good-bye  to 
his  officers. 

And  there  was  an  impulse  to  tears  in  the 
Americans  of  to-day  in  the  very  atmosphere  of 
the  hallowed  place.  Our  ancestors  are  not  so 
far  away  from  us  as  those  of  other  nations,  but 
their  memory  is  dear  and  their  benefits  not  yet 
forgot. 


CHAPTER  XII 


CLUBLAND HOW  TO  GET  INTO  A  NEW  YORK  CLUBHOUSE 

VARIOUS    TYPES    OF     CLUB POLITICAL,     RELIGIOUS, 

COLLEGE,    WOMEN'S,    GREEK    LETTER    FRATERNITIES, 

TRADES,    CRAFTS,    PROFESSIONS ATHLETIC    CLUBS — 

LITERARY,     BOHEMIAN     AND     SOCIAL     CLUBS — CLUB- 
WINDOW    LIFE SOME  ODD  CLUBS— CLUBLAND'S   NEW 

CENTRE 


FROM  the  cradle  to  the  clubs.  Everybody 
in  New  York  joins  a  club,  man,  woman, 
child.  Indeed,  if  Wordsworth's  "Ode  on  the 
Intimations  of  Immortality"  is  true,  we  have  but 
come  into  this  planet  from  an  older  and  earlier 
club  life,  and  are  simply  put  up  here  for  two 
weeks  or  so  with  privilege  of  visiting  the  bar 
and  paying  bills,  until  we  return  to  the  original 
clubhouse  to  be  permanently  assigned  to  the 
roof -garden  or  the  grill-room. 

In  New  York  there  are  little  cliques  of  in- 
fantry in  the  Park — Perambulator  Clubs;  the 
boys  of  the  slums  have  their  gangs,  with  a  club- 
house under  a  pier,  or  in  a  lumber  pile;  the 
schoolboys  have  their  innumerable  athletic 
societies,  the  college  men  their  Greek  letter 
fraternities,  the  college  women  their  sororities. 
Both  sexes  graduate  to  their  alumnar  clubs, 


220 


Gbe  IReal  IRew  lj)orfc 


A    NEW    YORKER 


affiliate  with  political  clubs  and    are  buried  by 
benefit  clubs. 

There  is  a  club  for  everything  and  everything 
in  its  club — age,  color,  sex,  oc- 
cupation, previous  condition  of 
servitude,  which  may  be  a  bar 
to  one  clan,  is  a  credential  to 
another.  New  York  City  is 
hardly  more  than  a  federated 
clubhouse. 

It  is  easy  to  join  any  of  the 
New  York  clubs — if  you  have 
the  influence  and  the  money,  and 
patience  enough  to  linger  at  the 
end  of  a  waiting  list  till  there  is 
gray  in  the  gold  and  all  the  men 
you  wanted  to  know  are  dead.  It  is  easy  for  the 
stranger  in  town  to  get  himself  put  up  at  any  of 
the  clubs — if  he  happens  to  know  some  in- 
fluential member. 

If  you  have  a  free  evening  and  would  care  to 
see  what  millionaires  do  when  they  do  nothing, 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  drop  a  line  to  "Dear  J. 
Pierpont,"  and,  if  not  previously  engaged,  he  will 
gladly  take  you  to  the  white  Walhalla  of  the 
Metropolitan  Club.  You  really  ought  not  to 
leave  town  without  visiting  the  remarkably 
original  home  of  the  New  York  Yacht  Club; 
any  of  your  friends  who  have  defended  the 
America's  Cup  will  gladly  put  you  up  there- 
Mr.  Iselin,  for  instance.  The  Lambs'  gambols 


Clublanb  221 

are  a  distinct  event  in  New  York  gaiety;  address 
"Nat"  Goodwin,  or  John  Drew,  or  any  of  the 
prominent  stars  whom  you  may  have  put  under 
social  obligations. 

The  old  treaty  of  back-scratching  reciprocity 
is  now  re-worded  to,  "  You  club  me  and  I'll  club 
you." 

The  stranger  in  town  ought  to  find  some  bunk 
besides  a  hotel.  If  you  happen  to  be  a  China- 
man, try  the  Reform  Club  in  Doyer  Street.  If 
you  come  from  Nippon,  the  Hinade  or  Rising 
Sun  Club,  founded  in  1896,  will  welcome  you, 
especially  if  you  subscribe  to  the  little  magazine 
it  publishes;  and  at  Columbia  University  there 
is  a  Japanese  students'  club.  If  you  are  a 
Syrian,  Hungarian,  Bohemian — anything — just 
wander  around  the  .East  Side  in  your  native 
costume.  If  you  are  a  Hindu,  try  a  theosophical 
meeting-room.  If  you  are  a  Democrat,  ask  a 
policeman.  If  you  are  an  anarchist,  don't. 

There  are  political  clubs  of  all  persuasions. 
The  far-famed  Tammany  Hall  in  East  Four- 
teenth Street  is  only  a  club  of  ambitious  nature, 
organized  after  the  manner  of  Indian  tribes  with 
sachems  and  sich.  The  Democrats  have  two 
other  clubs,  thanks  to  a  split  in  the  ranks.  The 
Manhattan  Club,  formerly  in  A.  T.  Stewart's 
old  mansion,  has  now  gone  to  Twenty-sixth 
Street,  where,  in  the  summer,  one  may  sit  on 
the  balcony  and  mingle  his  black  coffee  and 
brown  cigar,  the  aromatic  foliage  of  Madi- 


Gbe  IReal  IRew  JPorfc 

son  Square  and  his  Jeffersonian  principles  in 
one  peaceful  reverie.  The  other  club,  the  Demo- 
cratic, at  Fiftieth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue,  was 
founded  by  the  ex-proprietor  of  New  York,  Mr. 
Croker.  It  is  the  home  of  the  Tammany  wing 
of  the  party.  Brooklyn  has  also  a  finely  housed 
Jefferson  Club.  Besides,  every  election  district 
has  its  political  clubs,  named  after  district  lead- 
ers, who  pay  for  the  compliment  with  an  occa- 
sional chowder  party  on  an  excursion  boat. 

The  Republicans  have  a  Union  League  Club 
in  Brooklyn,  and  one  better  known  in  New  York. 
The  latter  was  founded  in  1863  to  aid  the  Union 
at  a  time  when  New  York  sentiment  was  not 
unanimous  for  the  continuation  of  the  war.  Two 
years  before  Mayor  Fernando  Wood  had  threat- 
ened to  secede  from  the  Union,  if  necessary,  all 
by  himself.  They  are  independents,  these  New 
Yorkers,  and  are  constantly  talking  of  forming 
a  State  of  their  own  as  a  release  from  the  truly 
rural  rule  of  Albany.  "Secede  from  Hayseed" 
would  doubtless  be  the  war  cry.  But,  for  the 
present,  Father  Knickerbocker  must  be  content 
with  J'y  suis,  fy  reste. 

In  1863,  however,  the  better  thousands  of  New 
York  manhood  were  at  the  front  fighting  for  the 
Union.  The  men  at  home  were  largely  those 
who  were  afraid  to  go  or  were  unconvinced  of 
the  cause.  Then  came  another  demand  for 
troops,  to  be  enforced  by  draft.  The  malcon- 
tents now  took  courage;  under  the  spur  of 


Clublanb  223 

anarchistic  yellow  journalism  they  proposed  to 
resist.  They  overpowered  the  police  by  num- 
bers, set  buildings  on  fire,  robbed,  paraded, 
threatened,  terrorized  the  whole  city.  The  ne- 
groes were  their  special  aversion, 
and  eleven  were  killed;  the  mob 
even  attacked  a  colored  orphan 
asylum,  which  they  burned 
down,  the  pickaninnies  barely 
escaping.  The  New  York  Tri- 
bune was  to  be  the  next 
pillage,  and  Horace 
Greeley  was  to  decorate 
a  sour  apple  tree;  but 
his  men  rigged  up  a  long  trough 
to  roll  bombshells  out  into  the 
mob,  and  the  pack  kept  its  dis- 
tance. The  police  gradually  re- 
gained control,  but  the  anarchy 
had  raged  four  days,  eighteen 
men  had  been  killed  by  the  mob,  including 
three  policemen,  fifty  buildings  had  been 
burned  and  two  or  three  million  dollars  of  prop- 
erty destroyed.  Of  the  rioters  over  twelve  hun- 
dred were  killed.  It  was  to  prevent  the  recur- 
rence of  such  dastardy  that  the  Union  League 
was  organized. 

The  Union  League  knows  only  peace  nowa- 
days, but  the  comfort  of  its  basking  windows 
encourages  and  fills  a  clubhouse  costing  $400,- 
000.  It  includes  an  art  gallery,  and  its  loan 


224  £be  iReal  IRew  JPorfc 

exhibitions  are  events.  There  is  another  Re- 
publican Club,  on  West  Fortieth  Street,  of  large 
membership.  The  Reform  Club,  at  No.  2  East 
Thirty-fifth  Street,  is  devoted  to  amelioration  in 
general  and  the  City  Club  to  the  never-ending 
need  of  municipal  antiseptics. 

The  creeds  as  well  as  the  factions  have  their 
clubs,  most  prominent  being  the  sumptuous 
Catholic  Club  facing  Central  Park  on  Fifty- 
ninth  Street,  the  Church  Club  of  Episcopalian 
persuasion  at  No.  578  Fifth  Avenue,  the  Hebrew 
Associations,  the  Harmonic  at  45  East  Twenty- 
third  Street,  the  Progress  at  Central  Park  West 
and  Eighty-eighth  Street  and  the  Freundschaft 
in  Seventy  -  second  Street.  But,  pious  as  are 
these  monasteries,  it  takes  something  more 
than  faith  to  get  into  them.  Faith  without  works 
is  like  a  watch  in  the  same  condition. 

Among  the  colleges,  the  finest  clubhouses  are 
those  of  Old  Eli  and  Fair  Harvard.  Harvard's 
is  the  elder,  and  it  is  a  charming  example  of 
Colonial  grace  and  dignity  and  comfort,  though 
it  has  recently  suffered  considerable  enlarge- 
ment. Yale  faces  Harvard  defiantly  across 
Forty-fourth  Street,  as  on  many  a  gridiron. 
The  Yale  house  is  of  the  modern  school,  soaring 
to  eleven  stories;  but  its  grill-room  is  quaint  and 
old-fashioned,  with  a  big  fireplace  and  all  the 
comforts  of  an  old  tavern.  Columbia  Univer- 
sity has  a  house  in  Madison  Square.  Princeton 
flies  her  orange  and  black  flag  in  Thirty-fourth 


THE  NIGHT  HAWK 


CluWanb  225 

Street,  Cornell  is  in  Forty-fifth  Street,  and 
Pennsylvania  in  Forty-fourth  Street. 

At  these  clubs  newly  graduated  men,  still  liv- 
ing on  their  fathers,  are  admitted  at  a  very  low 
rate.  As  they  get  older  and  incur  families  the 
dues  increase  with  their  other  troubles.  Chief 
of  all  college  clubs  is  the  super-palatial  Univer- 
sity, which  requires  of  its  candidates  that  they 
should  have  at  least  rubbed  up  against  the  walls 
of  one  of  the  more  important  colleges. 

There  is  a  club  of  college  women  also,  as  well 
as  numberless  other  combinations  of  Zenobias 
and  Jezebels,  conspiring  to  substitute  equality 
for  their  old  superiority,  to  chain  the  masculine 
foot  to  the  cradle  and  deprive  man  of  the  ancient 
and  honorable  monopoly  of  latchkey  and  nico- 
tine. The  greatest  of  these  is  Sorosis,  which  has 
introduced  the  novel  element  of  intellectuality 
into  club  life.  A  project  is  on  foot  to  build  a 
large  Amazonian  palace  of  athletics,  gossip  and 
exclusiveness,  with  billiard  tables,  French  comic 
papers,  a  pipe-room  and  all  the  other  joys  of 
men's  clubs. 

The  Greek  letter  fraternities  which  furnish 
college  life  with  even  profounder  mysteries  than 
those  in  the  books  have,  many  of  them,  abiding- 
places  for  visitors  in  town.  Show  your  pin  to 
the  doorman  and  give  him  the  grip  or  the  port- 
cullis falls.  There  are  at  least  a  dozen  of  these 
"frat  houses,"  and  they  serve  a  useful  purpose 

in  that  they  compel  the  graduate  to  remember 
lo 


226  sbc  IReal  IRew 

at  least  three  Greek  letters  as  relics  of  the  days 
when  he  was  a  freshman  and  knew  something. 

Then  there  are  the  trades  and  crafts.  The 
labor  union  locals  are  in  reality  clubs,  and  the 
employers  have  been  forced  to  club  together  to 
defend  the  downtrodden  capitalist  from  their 
zeal. 

The  Hardware  Club,  the  Merchants',  the 
Lawyers',  the  Downtown  Association  and  the 
Aldine  (formerly  composed  of  Barabbas  pub- 
lishers, now  of  business  men)  are  mainly 
luncheon  resorts  where  one  can  combine  the 
midday  meal  with  business  conference  and  in- 
digestion. 

The  Bar  Association  and  the  Academy  of 
Medicine,  however,  are  most  palatially  housed, 
and  the  Engineers  of  various  sorts  have  homes 
where  one  gossips  daily  of  horse-powers,  watts, 
ohms  and  tangential  stress.  The  men  whose 
trade  is  war  on  land  or  sea  have  their  Army  and 
Navy  Club.  The  Authors'  Club  occupies  rooms 
donated  by  Andrew  Carnegie,  who  has  recently 
offered  to  build  a  lairdly  asylum  for  all  the  other 
mechanicians. 

Of  athletic  clubs,  the  principal  are  the  Cres- 
cent, of  Brooklyn,  with  its  boathouse  on  the 
Bay,  and  the  New  York  Athletic,  chief  of 
American  athletic  clubs.  Its  annual  Ladies' 
Day  receptions  are  thronged,  the  women  guests 
being  entertained  not  only  by  stunts  in  the  gym- 
nasium, but  by  aquatic  contests  and  water  polo 


Clublanb 


227 


in  the  swimming  pool.  The  club  also  owns 
Travers  Island,  with  a  clubhouse  and  grounds 
where  outdoor  games  are  held.  Other  athletic 
associations  are  the  Fencers',  the  Riders',  a 
Coaching  Club,  a  Japanese  jiu-jitsu  club  and 
numerous  German  Turnvereinen. 

There  are  two  professional  clubs 
conducted  on  the  lucus  a  non  lucendo 
principle — the  Press   Club,  to  which 
almost    no   press  man  belongs,   and 
the  Players'  Club,  of  which  one   of 
its    literary    lights   ob- 
served,     "The      good 
thing  about   the  Play- 
ers'   Club  is   that  you 
meet     any     of 
those 

-  actors 
there."  While 
this  is  hyper- 
bole, the  club 
is  largely  re- 
cruited from  authors  and  artists,  though  it  was 
founded  and  endowed  by  Edwin  Booth  as  a  home 
for  his  fellows  of  the  stage,  and  though  it  is 
a  rule  that  no  dramatic  critic  may  break  in  and 
corrupt.  The  Players'  has  one  of  the  most  com- 
fortable residences  in  the  city,  and  its  atmosphere 
is  full  of  a  cheerful  dignity.  It  is  the  lair  of  one 
of  the  town's  pet  wits,  Beau  Herford,  whose  epi- 
grams radiate  thence  throughout  the  avenues. 


THE    LOTOS    CLUB  ENTERTAINER 


Ebe  IReal  IRew 

Of  much  the  same  type  as  the  Players',  though 
a  whit  more  formal  and  magnificent,  is  the  Cen- 
tury, which  was  founded  in  1847  and  combines 
professional  with  social  distinction.  It  enjoys 
one  of  the  handsomest  of  the  town's  houses. 

Clubs  which  are  more  exclusively  social  and 
likely  to  be  correspondingly  more  expensive  are 
the  venerable  Union  Club,  founded  in  1836,  an 
ideal  example  of  the  English  type;  the  Metro- 
politan (called  the  Millionaires'  Club) ,  the  Knick- 
erbocker, the  Strollers,  the  Calumet,  the  Rac- 
quet and  the  St.  Nicholas  (composed  of  descend- 
ants of  men  who  dwelt  in  New  York  before  1785). 

The  typical  club  is  a  co-operative  effort  to 
procure  solitude.  Isolation  in  the  midst  of  a 
throng  is  the  ideal,  and,  while  conversation  is 
permitted  and  reciprocity  in  drinks  is  encour- 
aged by  the  House  Committee,  both  processes 
must  be  managed  so  discreetly  as  not  to  disturb 
those  who  are  stealing  a  club  nap. 

But  there  are  a  few  clubs  notable  for  their 
efforts  to  provide  tonic  instead  of  soothing  syrup 
for  their  members.  The  chief  of  these  are  the 
Lambs,  the  Lotos,  the  Strollers,  the  Salmagundi, 
the  Pleiades  and  the  Twelfth  Night. 

The  Pleiades  might  be  named  the  Oasis,  for  the 
refuge  it  gives  from  the  desert  of  Sunday  nights. 
The  Twelfth  Night  is  largely  composed  of  ac- 
tresses who  never  entertain  more  than  one  lone 
lorn  man  at  a  time,  except  on  Twelfth  Night, 
when  the  gatherings  are  brilliant. 


(EttttNattft  229 

The  Salmagundi  is  composed  of  the  most  im- 
portant artists  of  the  country;  after  the  manner 
of  their  Parisian  schooling,  they  amuse  them- 
selves artistically  and  with  elaborateness.  They 
give  costume  dinners,  Christmas  parties  and  auc- 
tions where  good  fellowship  is  indulged  in  in 
decorative  style. 

The  Strollers  had  its  origin  in  a  Columbia 
College  dramatic  club;  it  has  since  broadened 
out  into  a  group  of  young  society  men  with  a 
mixture  of  artists  and  illustrators.  It  occupies 
the  house  lately  held  by  the  New  York  Yacht 
Club.  Here  it  has  a  small  theatre,  where  "  Rois- 
ters" or  "Strolls"  are  given  frequently  during 
the  winter.  It  devotes  also  a  week  every  year 
to  the  production  of  an  operetta  original  with 
the  members  and  played  by  the  members,  save 
for  an  auxiliary  of  pretty  girls.  The  list  of  pa- 
tronesses for  these  entertainments  exhausts  the 
Social  Register. 

The  Lotos  Club  is  famous  throughout  the 
land  for  its  distinguished  guests  and  their  treat- 
ment. An  American  or  a  foreign  visitor  cannot 
claim  to  have  had  the  final  accolade  of  fame 
till  the  Lotos  has  given  him  a  banquet.  But  at 
this  banquet  he  will  be  treated  not  with  rever- 
ence, but  as  a  shining  mark  for  the  target  prac- 
tice of  the  best  wits.  The  art  exhibitions  at  the 
Lotos  are  also  notable. 

The  Lambs  is  composed  almost  altogether  of 
the  more  successful  actors  and  playwrights. 


230  £be  iReal  IRew  |»orfc 

Here  the  most  formidable  tragedians  and  the 
most  despotic  comedians  lay  off  the  motley  and 
make-up  and  become  "just  lambs."  The  club 
metaphor  is  carried  to  the  last  degree;  the  chief 
officer  is  the  "Collie,"  the  entertainments  are 
"gambols,"  presided  over  by  "the  Boy";  once 
a  year  the  club  has  a  water  party,  called  "  the 
Washing."  The  unequaled  spirit  of  comrade- 
ship and  co-operation  and  the  great  prosperity 
of  the  club  are  stout  contradictions  of  prevail- 
ing superstitions  concerning  actors. 

There  are  in  town  also  numberless  clubs  of 
occasion,  single-banquet  clubs.  Of  these  is  the 
Thirteen  Club,  which  for  many  years  has  met 
without  casualty  on  April  13th,  the  birthday  of 
the  guiding  spirit  of  the  thirteen  colonies,  Thom- 
as Jefferson.  Last  year  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
nine  guests  sat  at  thirteen  tables;  incidentally 
they  insult  all  the  other  superstitions  at  once. 
They  enjoy  excellent  health  in  spite  of  their  sac- 
rilege, but  it  is  doubtful  if  their  work  does  any 
good,  for  surely  those  who  at  this  late  day  still 
believe  that  any  number  has  dynamic  mean- 
ing either  cannot  read — or  do  not. 

There  has  been  a  noteworthy  tendency  among 
the  clubs  to  drift  toward  one  magnetic  centre. 
Forty-third  and  Forty-fourth  Streets  seem  to  be 
the  hub  of  to-day.  Forty-fourth  Street,  indeed, 
has  become  a  remarkable  little  bazaar  for  the 
display  of  original  and  contrasting  chefs  (Tceuvre 
of  architecture. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  MANY  PEOPLES  OF    NEW  YORK NEW  YORK'S  COSMO- 
POLITANISM  ITS    POPULATION    AND    ENVIRONS RAPID 

GROWTH TRANSIENT     POPULATION FOREIGN    CITIES 

INSIDE    NEW    YORK FOREIGN    LANGUAGES,    CHURCHES, 

PAPERS,    THEATRES,    FESTIVALS THE     VARIOUS     COLO- 
NIES  A  FINNISH  BATH A  RUSSIAN  EASTER BRAVERY 

OF  THE  IRISH WHAT  NEW  YORK  OFFERS  THE  INVADER 

T)UT  I  say,  you  know,  you  Americans 
JL)  are  so  beastly  provincial,"  growled 
Calverly.  'You  ah;  you  know  you  ah!" 

"  Provincial !"  gasped  De  Peyster.  "  Why,  the 
word  cosmopolitan  was  invented  for  us.  Rome 
in  her  palmiest  days  never  knew  what  wide- 
worldliness  was  compared  with  New  York. 
Rome,  in  fact,  never  approached  the  size  of  New 
York.  The  numbers  of  native  Italians  and  their 
children  now  in  New  York  make  a  total  nearly 
equal  to  Rome's  present  population.  New  York 
is  growing  at  a  fiendish  rate. 

"The  population  of  London  was  4,500,000  in 
1901.  New  York's,  in  1900,  was  3,500,000;  in 
1903  it  was  nearly  3,750,000,  though,  by  rights, 
the  Jersey  suburbs  are  as  much  a  part  of  New 
York  as  Harlem  or  Brooklyn;  and  they  include 
Jersey  City  with  206,000,  Newark  with  246,000, 
Hoboken  with  82,000,  and  places  like  Bayonne, 


Gbe  IReal  1Rew 

Englewood,  Hackensack  and  West  Hoboken  and 
the  other  places,  with  a  total  of  600,000.  These 
were  their  figures  for  1900,  and  they  have  in- 
creased materially  in  the  last  three  years,  for 
New  York  itself  has  increased  by  280,000  in 
that  time.  Add  600,000  Jerseyites  to  our  pres- 
ent 3,716,139  inhabitants  and  you  have  4,316,- 
139,  which  is  pressing  London  hard.  We  shall 
pass  London  in  a  few  years  at  a  canter." 

"Well,  of  all  the  confounded  impudence! 
You  Yankees  beat  the  world  at  that,  at  least," 
said  Calverly.  "As  you  say,  I  guess  I'll  go  and 
smoke  a  pipe." 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  De  Peyster.  "You'll 
sit  and  listen  to  my  pipe,"  and  he  began  to  deluge 
him  with  statistics,  of  which  the  following  is  a 
digest,  with  some  garnishments: 

The  increase  in  New  York  and  its  Jersey  sub- 
urbs in  three  years  is  more  than  the  whole  pres- 
ent population  of  Buffalo,  the  eighth  city  of  the 
Union.  There  are  more  people  in  this  city  than 
in  any  American  State  except  six.  In  New  York 
there  are  more  Germans  and  Irish  born  abroad, 
or  of  the  first  generation,  than  the  whole  popu- 
lation of  any  other  American  city  except  Chi- 
cago. There  are  more  Hebrews  here  than  the 
whole  population  of  any  other  city  except  Chi- 
cago and  Philadelphia.  There  are  only  six 
other  cities  that  have  more  men  and  women 
and  children  of  all  races  than  New  York  has 
of  Italians  alone. 


peoples  of  IRew  H?orfc  233 


Then  our  floating  population  ought  to  be  con- 
sidered. Our  theatres  and  nearby  resorts  de- 
pend largely  on  a  constant  transient  element, 
which,  like  the  big  wave  in  the 
Niagara  whirlpool,  is  always  the 
same,  though  at  no  two  moments 
has  it  the  same  constituents. 

Fifty  thousand  retail  merchants 
come  to  the  town  every  year 
from  every  State  in  the  Union; 
they  spend  half  a  billion  dollars 
every  autumn,  five  millions  of  it 
for  hotels  and  theatres  and  per- 
sonal expenses.  A  tenth  of  the 
buyers  are  women.  There  are 
certain  wholesale  stores  where 
congresses  of  the  States  could  be 
held,  where  individual  salesmen  sell  three  or  four 
million  dollars'  worth  of  goods — and  spend  many 
hundreds  of  dollars  at  the  company's  expense 
showing  the  rural  merchant  what  a  wicked  town 
this  is. 

Even  statistics  grow  picturesque  in  New  York. 
Of  native  Englishmen  and  Scotchmen  there  are 
87,000  residents;  of  English  and  Scotch  parent- 
age 204,000  more;  the  total  is  a  British  city 
bigger  than  Nottingham  or  than  Plymouth  and 
Southampton  put  together.  Of  Frenchmen  and 
their  children  we  have  only  43,000 — that  is  to 
say,  we  could  build  about  two  Dieppes  here. 
We  have  a  few  Danes  and  a  few  Persians, 


A  NEW 
YORKER 


234  £be  iReal  mew  Jflorfc 

Armenians  and  Turks,  and  a  number  of  Hindu 
Swamis  teaching  their  occult  cults.  We  have 
2,000  native  Dutch,  1,000  Japanese,  8,000  natives 
of  China,  8,000  citizens  born  in  Switzerland, 
1,000  in  Wales,  11,000  in  Norway,  15,000  Fin- 
nish refugees,  28,000  born  in  Sweden  and 
44,000  born  here  of  Swedish  parents.  Of  Aus- 
trians  we  have  71,000  foreign  born  and  113,000 
born  here.  Of  Poles  we  had,  in  1900,  30,000 
born  abroad  and  53,000  born  here;  altogether 
nearly  as  many  as  in  Posen.  Of  Hungarians  we 
had  31,000  natives,  and  52,000  of  first  genera- 
tion. Of  Roumanians  there  are  35,000  natives. 

In  1903  the  total  Italian  population,  includ- 
ing the  first  generation,  was  382,775 — that  is  to 
say,  New  York  is  the  fourth  greatest  Italian  city 
in  the  world,  and  contains  more  Italians  than 
Florence  and  Venice  put  together.  At  the  pres- 
ent rate  of  immigration  New  York  will,  in  a  few 
years,  be  the  largest  of  all  Italian  cities.  Of 
Russians,  mainly  Jews,  there  are  155, 000  foreign 
born  with  245,000  children— a  total  of  400,000, 
more  than  the  entire  population  of  Kiev  and 
Kishinev  put  together.  The  Irish  immigrants 
numbered  275,000  in  1900,  with  725,000  of  the 
first  generation;  just  a  round  million  sons  of 
Erin. 

Thus  New  York  is  so  distinctly  the  largest 
Irish  city  in  the  world  that  its  Irish  population 
is  nearly  three  times  as  large  as  that  of  either 
Dublin  or  Belfast.  Of  native  Germans,  in  1900, 


peoples  of  IRcw  H?orfc  235 

we  had  322,000,  and  786,000  children— 1,108,000 
—nearly  two-thirds  the  population  of  Berlin, 
and  nearly  as  much  as  Hamburg  and  Munich 
put  together. 

New  York  is  a  microcosm — almost  a  macro- 
cosm— in  itself.  Of  course,  London  as  at  pres- 
ent larger  in  numbers,  though  New  York  has 
wrested  its  financial  supremacy  from  it.  Lon- 
don is  the  capital  of  the  great  British  Empire, 
and  in  its  narrow  streets  with  their  low  buildings 
one  sees  many  a  barbarian  and  occasional  speci- 
mens from  all  her  colonies;  but  for  actual  cos- 
mopolitance  of  population  Paris  is  perhaps 
more  noteworthy  than  London.  And  New 
York  outruns  either. 

There  are  whole  districts  of  New  York  where 
hardly  a  sign  is  in  English;  the  legends  are  in 
Italian,  Hebrew,  German,  Russian  or  French. 
To  ride  up  Broadway  and  read  the  names  of  the 
merchants  on  a  single  building  is  a  startling 
revelation  of  what  a  multiplex  civilization  is  ours. 

In  London  and  Paris,  while  there  are  foreign 
bits,  the  general  impression  is  of  uniformity. 
The  names  on  the  signs  have  a  national  unity, 
with  rare  exceptions.  In  New  York  irregular- 
ity alone  is  regular. 

Though  the  foreigners  make  haste  to  learn 
English,  they  cannot  acquire  it  immediately, 
and  the  New  York  ear  listens  perforce  to  a 
polyglot  symphony.  Walk  through  Central 
Park  and  almost  all  the  nursemaids  and  their 


236  £be  IReal 


charges  seem  to  be  speaking  French  —  often  the 
Canadian  patois;  else  it  is  a  pleasant  accent 
from  Athlone  exchanged  with  a  policeman's  pure 
Dublin.  Take  a  ferry  and  you  hear  two  swart 
Italian  bootblacks  tossing  to  one  another  their 
Neapolitan  estimates  of  the  feet  in  front  of  them 
and  the  humanity  attached  —  ex  pede  Herculem. 
On  almost  any  street  car  platform  you  will  hear 
two  Germans  talking  a  curious  corruption  of 
broken  English  and  Anglicized  German;  they 
come  to  speak  their  German  words  like  Ameri- 
cans and  their  American  words  like  Germans. 
On  the  Elevated  road  long-sleeved  Chinese 
laundrymen  vocalize,  or  long-bearded  Polish 
Jews  gesticulate  Yiddish;  it  is  generally  believed 
that  if  a  street  car  should  cut  off  their  hands  they 
would  be  speechless. 

The  news  of  the  day  is  cosmopolitan.  The 
Belasco  medal  for  dramatic  ability  was  awarded 
last  to  an  Armenian,  Hovsep  Hovsepian.  About 
the  same  time  the  Swedes  gave  their  third  fair 
for  gathering  funds  to  build  themselves  a  hos- 
pital —  what  a  massage-paradise  it  will  be!  The 
Swiss  already  have  a  home.  The  night  the  Ger- 
mans were  giving  their  Arion  Ball  the  Bohemian 
Gymnastic  Association  gave  another  at  the 
Grand  Central  Palace.  And  a  week  later  the 
Irish  Athletic  Club  had  a  festival  at  the  Madison 
Square  Garden.  At  the  same  time  the  "  Clubul 
Nacional  Roman,"  i.  e.,  the  National  Rouman- 
ian Club,  gave  a  dance  in  national  costume  and 


peoples  of  mew  H>orfc  237 


invited  five  other  Roumanian  societies  to  join 
them  in  treading  the  stately  hora  and  whirling 
in  the  kindia.  At  the  new  Cathedral  on  Morning- 


s  i  d  e    Heights 
seven    chapels 
will  be  held  in 
every  Sunday, 
recently  taken 
tary  pub- 
school  in 
T  w  e  n- 
Street  shows  men 
nine   national- 
The  cosmopol- 
population  is  re- 
papers.      While 
Fliegende  Blatter 
humor,   Life, 


there  are  to  be 
where  services 
seven    tongues 
A  photograph 
at  an  elemen- 
lic    night 
East 
t  i  e  t  h 
t wenty- 


itan 


A    NEW 
YORKER 


of 
ities. 

fabric  of  our 
fleeted  in  our  comic 
Punch,  Le  Rire  and 
are  full  of  native 
Puck  and  Judge  are 
filled  with  foreign  types.  Our  plays  run  the  same 
way,  and  in  the  same  cast  of  characters  all  dia- 
lects may  meet.  The  American  actor  must  im- 
personate German,  French,  Cockney,  Italian, 
Swedish,  Spanish,  Russian — all  humanity. 

Furthermore,  our  foreign-born  citizens  have 
their  own  papers  and  their  own  theatres.  At 
least  three  New  York  daily  newspapers  are  pub- 
lished in  German,  two  in  Italian,  one  in  French 
and  several  in  Hebrew.  Periodicals  of  less  fre- 
quent appearance  are  in  Spanish,  Chinese,  Jap- 
anese, Turkish,  Finnish,  Russian,  Roumanian— 
what  not  ?  If  you  are  familiar  with  Spanish  or 


238  £be  TRcal  IRew 

Italian  you  can  understand  the  weekly  Ecoul 
Americei,  for  Roumanian  is  a  descendant  of 
Latin. 

There  are  six  periodicals  published  in  the 
Syrian  colony,  their  language  being  Arabic. 
Their  quarter  is  Washington  Street,  and  a  great 
sensation  was  recently  caused  by  an  allegory, 
published  by  a  poet,  Ameen  Rihani,  rebuking  old 
Syrian  ideas  in  combat  with  Americanism.  He 
was  warned  that  his  life  was  in  danger,  but  de- 
termined none  the  less  to  spend  his  summer 
under  the  cedars  of  Lebanon. 

Of  foreign  theatres  there  are  many  play- 
ing the  entire  season.  The  French,  curiously 
enough,  have  not  been  able  to  support  a  theatre, 
and  even  the  opera  companies  that  prosper  in 
New  Orleans  usually  strand  in  New  York; 
but  the  chief  French  stars  visit  this  country,  and 
the  same  is  true  of  the  Italians,  who  have  been 
able  to  support  nothing  more  than  a  quaint 
marionette  show.  A  series  of  Russian  orchestral 
concerts  by  Russian  performers  was  given  this 
last  winter.  A  vast  majority  of  our  orchestra 
performers  are  German.  The  Germans  main- 
tain a  first-class  stock  company  at  the  Irving 
Place  Theatre,  and  the  most  famous  German 
tragedians  and  comedians  play  here  as  "guests." 
There  was  for  many  years,  in  the  Germania 
Theatre,  a  company  that  played  hilarious  local 
farces  based  on  German  experiences  in  New 
York. 


flDani?  peoples  of  IRew  H>orfc  239 

The  enormous  Jewish  immigration,  especially 
from  Russia  and  Poland,  has  gathered  a  popu- 
lation which  will  soon  reach  a  million,  and  has 
.earned  for  New  York  the  occasional  nickname 
of  the  "New  Jerusalem."  There  are  several 
theatres  supported  by  these  people.  Two  of 
them,  the  Thalia  and  the  Windsor  (once  the 
fashionable  opera  house  of  the  city),  are  on  the 
Bowery.  An  ornate  new  one  is  in  Grand  Street, 
where  Rubinstein's  opera,  "The  Demon,"  was 
given  last  March  for  the  first  time  in  this  coun- 
try by  Russian  amateurs.  Jacob  Adler  is  a 
famous  tragedian,  a  noteworthy  Shylock  and 
the  lessee  of  the  theatre.  If  he  is  the  "Yiddish 
Salvini"  Jacob  Gordin  is  the  "Yiddish  Shake- 
speare." He  has  written  seventy  plays  in  his 
twelve  years  here,  and  twenty-five  of  them  have 
been  successes.  They  are  written  in  that  jargon 
called  "Judisch"  (i.  e.9  Jewish)  or  Yiddish. 
At  these  theatres  one  may  also  see  occasional 
adaptations  from  the  reigning  successes.  Sar- 
dou's  "  Gismonda,"  for  instance,  was  twisted 
into  a  moral  lesson  and  ended  with  a  marriage 
and  a  duel  in  a  synagogue.  There  is  a  union  of 
Hebrew  actors  and  one  of  Hebrew  vaudeville 
actors.  At  these  theatres  and  at  the  variety 
halls  the  signs  and  programmes  are  altogether 
in  Hebrew  characters. 

The  foreign  races,  as  a  rule,  gather  in  clusters, 
and  make  certain  districts  their  own;  some  of 
them  occupy  more  than  one  colony.  Thus,  the 


240 


IReal  IRcw 


great  Jewish  district,  "the  Ghetto,"  is  around 
Hester,  Division  and  Grand  Streets.  It  is  said 
to  contain  three  times  as  many  Hebrews  as  the 
"Ghetto"  of  London,  five  times  as  many  as  that 
of  Paris,  and  six  times  that  of 
Berlin.  In  the  section  south  of 
Houston  Street  and  east  of  the 
Bowery  a  recent  canvass  showed 
some  400,000  people,  of  whom 
eighty  per  cent,  are  Jews,  half  of 
them  Russians  and  a  seventh 
Roumanians.  But  the  open- 
ing of  the  Williamsburg 
Bridge  has  seen  a  second 
exodus.  Brownsville,  on 
H  the  outskirts  of  Brooklyn, 
\  is  the  new  Canaan,  and  it 
has  grown  like  a  Western 
boom-town,  though  the 
same  unsightliness,  the  same 
uncleanliness,  sordidness 
and  sweat-shop  perfume 
distinguish  the  new  as  well 

as  the  old  Ghetto.  People  prefer  their  own 
national  odors,  and  the  Ghettites  are  noted  for 
their  common  scents.  Contrary  to  a  general 
opinion,  they  have  no  objection  to  the  bathtub; 
they  have  found  that  it  makes  an  excellent 
coalbin. 

The  Italians  also  have  migrated.     Mulberry 
Bend  was  their  original  centre,  and  still  thrives, 


IN    FRONT    OF  A  YIDDISH 
THEATRE 


THE   GHETTO 


fEmni?  peoples  of  IRew  lj>orh  241 

but  "Little  Italy"  proper  is  now  on  the  upper 
East  Side  from  Ninety -second  to  One  Hundred 
and  Twentieth  Street.  In  these  two  centres  the 
Mafia  and  the  padrone  system  prosperously 
evade  the  police,  and  all  arguments  are  settled 
by  knife  or  stiletto. 

The  Spanish  business  houses  are  in  Cedar 
Street  and  Maiden  Lane;  they  have  no  special 
home  centre. 

The  English  are  pretty  well  lost  in  the  native 
American  population,  but  there  is  a  colony  about 
Gansevoort  where,  as  we  are  told,  roast  beef  is  cut 
the  wrong  way  of  the  grain  and  where  dropped 
"h's"  do  not  attract  attention  like  spilled  tor- 
pedoes. The  royal  birthdays  are  usually  cele- 
brated by  a  banquet  of  the  faithful  and  a  cable- 
gram of  loyalty  is  sent  regardless  of  cable  tolls, 
for  the  English  are  slow  to  give  up  that  old  creed 
which  brought  on  the  War  of  1812,  "Once  Brit- 
ish always  British." 

The  French  centre  has  been  shifting,  and  it 
is  a  curious  fact  that  the  poor  French  usually 
move  into  districts  from  which  the  negroes  are 
just  moving  out.  The  negroes  have  usually 
frozen  out  the  Irish — though  there  are  now  no 
exclusively  Irish  districts  in  town.  The  Jews, 
as  a  rule,  follow  the  French  or  the  Italians,  and 
anti-Semitic  prejudices  give  them  an  undisputed 
possession. 

The  French  still  linger  in  some  numbers  on 

South  Fifth  Avenue,  for  Fifth  Avenue  is  aristo- 
16 


242  cbe  IReal  IRevo  JPorfc 

cratic  only  along  its  middle  distance,  as  North 
Fifth  Avenue  is  very  largely  populated  by  Ger- 
man Jews.  The  main  body  of  the  French  are 
flocking  to  the  West  Twenties  now,  and  num- 
berless table  d'hote  cafes  are  found  in  this  re- 
gion, where  the  signs,  the  supplies  and  the  guests 
are  wholly  French.  The  better  class  of  the 
French  live  in  the  West  Nineties. 

The  Austrians  gather  on  lower  Second  Ave- 
nue, in  a  district  which  they  fondly  call  Little 
Vienna,  or  "Klein  Wien."  The  East  Houston 
Street  district  is  known  as  "Little  Hungary," 
and  the  street  itself  is  often  called  "Goulash 
Row."  The  Gentile  Poles  are  also  here.  The 
Bohemians  cluster  in  First  and  Second  Avenues, 
between  Seventieth  and  Eightieth  Streets. 

The  refugees  of  Finland  mainly  pass  through 
New  York  to  the  West.  In  the  last  five  years 
their  numbers  in  this  country  have  increased 
from  3,000  to  over  200,000.  That  is  to  say,  one- 
tenth  of  all  Finland  has  come  to  this  country 
since  the  Tsar's  decree  depriving  the  nation  of 
its  constitutional  liberties.  Many  of  them  linger 
in  New  York,  and  they  have  in  the  Battery  Park 
Building  a  clubroom  where  one  hears  the  fa- 
miliar greeting  of  "Good  day"  answered  by  the 
national  "God  grant  it."  At  this  "Finnish  Ex- 
iles' Club"  the  gratitude  for  their  American  ref- 
uge finds  vent  in  cries  of  "America  E  la  koon!" 
(America  be  blessed!).  Unlike  our  immigrants 
from  many  other  nations,  our  Finnish  acquisi- 


peoples  of  IRew  i!>orfc  243 

tions  are  frequently  of  the  highest  social  posi- 
tions; but  the  poor  come  also,  and  there  was 
great  excitement  caused  by  the  recent  publica- 
tion of  the  fact  that  in  Blythedale,  a  region  around 
Sixtieth  Street  in  South  Brooklyn,  commonly 
known  as  "Finland,"  one  can  now  obtain  a 
genuine  Finnish  bath.  This  luxury  resembles 
the  Russian  and  Japanese  institutions  in  that  it 
is  conducted  by  women.  The  hot  steam  which 
is  raised  from  throwing  water  on  boulders  is  not 
the  only  shock  the  American  gets,  for  the  bather 
— or  bathee — is  invited  to  appear  clothed  only 
in  his  right  mind,  if  he  can  retain  even  this 
diaphanous  garment.  •  He  is  then  soaped  and 
beaten  to  a  fever  heat  with  leafy  branches. 

The  Greek  population  is  not  large,  yet  the 
"Ajax"  of  Sophocles  was  recently  given  in  the 
original  Greek  at  Clinton  Hall  in  Clinton  Street. 
It  was  claimed  that  this  was  the  first  perform- 
ance of  the  text  for  twenty-three  centuries.  The 
Greeks  incline  to  the  trade  of  florist  in  New 
York. 

The  Russians  in  New  York  are  mainly  Jews, 
who  feel  no  friendship  for  the  country  which 
has  treated  them  almost  as  badly  as  we  have 
treated  the  negroes.  At  the  outbreak  of  the 
Russian  war  with  Japan  this  feeling  of  hostility 
for  the  country  whose  tyrannies  had  driven  them 
across  the  ocean  found  expression  in  the  move- 
ment to  subscribe  for  a  battleship,  name  it  The 
Kishinev  and  present  it  to  the  Japanese  navy. 


244  £be  IReal  IRew  JPorfc 

This  very  undiplomatic  idea  was  fortunately  not 
carried  out,  but  it  led  David  Warfield,  that  vivid 
impersonator  of  the  downtrodden  Jew,  to  sug- 
gest that  a  good  battle  motto  would  be,  "Re- 
member the  Kishinev." 

There  are  enough  Christian  Russians,  how- 
ever, in  New  York  to  support  the  beautiful 
Church  of  St.  Nicholas  in  East  Ninety-second 
Street.  There  are  about  three  thousand  ortho- 
dox Russians  in  New  York,  their  centre  being 
Avenue  A  between  Seventy-second  and  Seventy- 
sixth  Streets.  For  them  four  newspapers  are 
printed  in  the  Russian  language  under  subsidy 
from  their  Government.  •  One  of  these  is  pub- 
lished at  the  church  and  is  called  The  Russian 
Orthodox,  its  editor  being  the  pastor,  Father 
Hotovitsky.  There  is  a  "Greek  Orthodox  Mu- 
tual Benefit  Society,"  which  holds  its  conven- 
tions at  the  church  and  participates  in  a  religious 
service  lasting  a  week. 

The  Easter  of  the  Greek  calendar  is  elaborately 
observed  at  the  Russian  church.  The  ceremony 
begins  at  midnight  and  lasts  three  hours.  The 
worshipers  stand  ready  with  unlighted  can- 
dles. The  ritual  includes  a  picturesque  search 
for  the  body  of  Christ,  which  had  been  sym- 
bolically laid  there  on  Good  Friday  but  is 
now  not  to  be  found,  since  the  Christ  has  risen. 
The  procession  of  priests  and  deacons  passes  out 
of  the  church  and  the  chant  dies  away,  only  to 
increase  again  as  the  pageant  reappears  exactly 


flfcanp  peoples  of  IRew  lj)orfc  245 

at  midnight.  Then  the  great  crystal  chandelier 
bursts  into  flame,  and,  as  the  priests  with  lighted 
candles  pass  through  the  crowd,  the  nearest  wor- 
shipers light  their  own  tapers  and  pass  the  light 
along,  greeting  each  other  with  a  smile  as  they 
cross  themselves.  The  Bishop  then  takes  his 
post  at  the  royal  gate  and  calls  aloud,  "  Christ 
is  risen!" 

"He  is  risen  indeed,"  the  people  respond. 

The  Bishop  then  gives  the  three  kisses  of 
peace  to  each  of  the  dignitaries,  and  through- 
out the  church  the  worshipers  also  exchange 
kisses  and  the  greeting,  "Christ  is  risen,  He 
is  risen  indeed." 

Communion  is  administered  and  dyed  eggs 
are  blessed  and  distributed  among  the  worship- 
ers, who  kiss  the  gold  crucifix.  There  follows 
a  feast  of  Easter  dishes,  including  "kalitch," 
which  is  of  cake,  and  "paschal,"  which  is  of 
cheese.  Now  the  Tsar's  health  is  drunk  by  the 
congregation,  for  the  Tsar  is  the  Russian  Pope 
as  well  as  Emperor.  The  service  ends  with  the 
national  hymn,  which  is  sung  with  deep  fervor 
in  these  war  times. 

The  Germans  of  New  York  are  so  numerous, 
and  they  so  quickly  Americanize  themselves,  that 
it  is  difficult  to  limit  them.  They  are  remark- 
able for  their  club  life,  their  athletics  and  their 
musical  interests.  Among  the  many  Turn-Ver- 
einen  is  the  Central  in  East  Eighty-second  Street, 
which  occupies  a  six-story  building  that  cost 


246 

$700,000,  and  the  New  York,  which  has  a  large 
clubhouse  in  Eighty-fifth  Street.  Of  clubs  the 
principal  are  the  Arion,  the  Liederkranz,  the 
Aschenbroedel  and  several  Mannerchor,  all  of 
large  membership  and  occupying  handsome 
buildings  where  choral  and  instrumental  per- 
formances are  constantly  given.  Their  most 
exclusive  social  club  is  the  German  Verein,  on 
Fifty-ninth  Street  facing  the  Park.  The  most 
picturesque  is  the  local  chapter  of  the  "  Schlar- 
affia,"  in  which  the  ritual  of  knights  and  squires 
is  carried  out  and  fierce  beer  duels  are  fought 
with  amusing  ceremonies. 

The  negroes  can  hardly  be  called  foreigners 
except  by  a  long  backward  look.  The  North- 
ern negro  is  as  distinct  from  the  Southern  as  the 
progressive  Japanese  from  the  old  school.  The 
negroes  in  New  York  suffer,  of  course,  from 
the  national  race  prejudice,  which  is  in  some 
ways  more  severe  up  here  than  in  the  South. 
Their  true  paradise  is  in  European  capitals  such 
as  London  and  Paris,  where  they  suffer  little  or 
no  ostracism  from  white  society.  But  they  are 
numerous  enough  in  New  York  City  to  make 
a  world  of  their  own,  and  some  of  them  attain 
a  high  degree  of  prosperity  and  political  impor- 
tance. They  have  their  clubs,  their  churches 
and  their  castes,  and  perhaps  there  are  no  more 
elaborately  dressed  men  in  New  York  than  the 
aristocratic  negroes.  In  fact,  by  their  willingness 
to  indulge  in  the  more  brilliant  colors  and  the 


fIDanp  peoples  of  IRew  JJ)orfc  247 


more  extreme  styles,  and  by  their  frequent  good 
taste  in  the  combination  of  other  tints  with  their 
native  bronze  they  sometimes  outshine  the  pale- 
face Beau  Brummells. 

They  have  also  their  vicious  strata,  and  there 
are  districts  where  the  proverbial  razor  is  a 
weapon  to  which  frequent  reference  is  made. 
.._  (  Their  principal  districts  are 

West  Third  Street,  West 
Twenty-eighth  Street  and  West 
Fifty-third  Street.  Sixth 
Avenue  from  Twenty-sixth  to 
Thirty-second  Streets,  is  often 
called  the  "Darkey  Fifth 
Avenue."  The  vicious  negroes 


ON    DARKEY    FIFTH    AVENUE 


248 


IReal  1Rew  Jl?orfc 


haunt  numerous  low  dives,  and  there  have  been 
occasional  outbursts  of  race  war  along  Seventh 
and  Eighth  Avenues,  between  the  rough  ele- 
ments, Caucasian  and  Ethio- 
pian. The  dances  given  by  the 
colored  aristocrats  often  attract 
white  audiences,  who  find  great 
amusement  in  the  profound 
dignity  of  the  couples.  They 
can  be  graceful  as  well,  when 
they  forget  their  dignity,  and 

\Vjyj\\         the   cakewalk  is  among  the 
i  f  ^  \i..       most    graceful    of    national 
\-   dances.     Small  wonder  that 
it  has  invaded   Europe   and 
set  the  courtiers  to  studying 
ragtime. 

It  is  a  common  joke  that  the  Irish  own  New 
York,  and  run  it  to  suit  themselves.  With  a 
million  of  them  here,  all  of  them  ambitious,  their 
prominence  in  politics  is  as  legitimate  as  it  is  unde- 
niable. It  is  their  native  element.  In  London 
also  they  play  a  prominent  part  in  the  military 
as  well  as  literary  life,  and  it  is  astounding  how 
often  one  finds  that  a  prominent  Englishman 
is  really  an  Irishman.  The  Police  and  the  Fire 
Departments  of  New  York  are  very  largely 
Hibernian,  and  the  heroism  of  both  is  of  the 
highest  quality.  At  the  latest  award  of  three 
medals  for  acts  of  particularly  brilliant  heroism 
all  three  were  earned  by  Irishmen. 


A    NEW    YORK 
ALDERMAN 


fIDan?  peoples  of  IRew  lj)ork  249 

On  St.  Patrick's  Day  enormous  processions 
march  both  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn  during 
the  day,  and  banquets  and  athletic  sports  fill 
the  afternoon  and  evening.  On  this  occasion 
the  old  Irish  game  of  football  can  be  seen.  On 
last  St.  Patrick's  Day  10,000  Irishmen  marched 
in  Brooklyn,  and  in  New  York  30,000  paraded 
Fifth  Avenue  for  five  miles.  This  procession 
included  over  fifty  Irish  societies,  the  most 
prominent  being  the  Irish  Volunteers  and  the 
Ancient  Order  of  Hibernians.  The  comic  papers 
for  so  many  years  had  so  much  sport  with  the 
antediluvian  high  hats  that  used  to  mark  this 
occasion  that  they  were  discarded  for  a  more 
businesslike  felt.  The  emerald  sashes,  however, 
are  still  worn,  for  "the  wearing  of  the  green"  is  a 
memory  that  is  held  sacred  by  the  victims  of 
centuries  of  oppression.  The  English  deter- 
mination to  destroy  the  Irish  language  had 
almost  succeeded,  but  the  Gaelic  revival  has 
done  so  much  for  the  resurrection  of  the  national 
life  and  literature  and  music  that  its  reflex  is 
found  in  this  country.  Meetings  are  frequently 
held  where  nothing  but  Gaelic  is  spoken  or  sung, 
and  a  Gaelic  drama  was  recently  presented. 

A  prominent  place  in  all  Irish  gatherings  is 
taken  by  the  Sixty-ninth  Regiment,  the  only 
regiment  in  the  American  National  Guard  which 
has  a  distinct  nationality.  Made  up,  as  it  is, 
of  Irishmen  and  their  descendants,  it  and  its 
offspring,  the  Irish  Brigade,  took  so  prominent 


250  Gbe  IReal  1Rew  J]>orfc 

a  part  in  the  Civil  War  and  were  so  alert  in  the 
Spanish  War  that  it  has  been  commonly  said 
that  the  Sixty-ninth  is  the  best  known  regiment 
in  the  world.  As  a  token  of  the  city's  trust  in 
Irish  fidelity  to  their  foster-fatherland,  the  New 
York  municipality  has  recently  presented  the 
regiment  with  a  $600,000  home,  which  will  be  in 
many  respects  the  finest  armory  in  the  United 
States. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  an  important  race 
that  has  no  representation  in  New  York.  The 
city  has  become  a  congress  of  nations,  in  per- 
manent session.  The  Persian  rug  makers,  the 
cigarette-rolling  maidens  and  men  from  Egypt 
and  Turkey  add  their  exotic  notes  to  complete 
the  infinite  variety. 

Other  capitals  are  Meccas  of  interest  to 
tourists,  but  foreigners  who  come  to  New  York 
come  here  to  live.  They  may  have  cherished 
false  hopes  of  the  extent  of  personal  liberty, 
and  of  the  ease  with  which  money  is  to  be 
acquired,  but  at  least  they  find  opportunity  un- 
limited and  they  are  humiliated  by  no  hereditary 
nobility — save  for  the  paupers  of  foreign  peer- 
ages who  visit  us  in  flocks.  But  they,  too,  come 
here  on  business,  and  the  number  of  American 
women  who  have  bought  foreign  titles  with 
human  attachments  is  legion.  It  has  become 
an  international  industry  for  which  a  clearing- 
house is  needed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHERE  TO  EAT THE  COOKERY  PROBLEM  IN  NEW  YORK 

THE  RESTAURANT  SYSTEM THE   COSMOPOLITAN  MENUS 

—CHEAP     LUNCHES THE     STREET     STANDS     AND     THE 

BUFFET     LUNCHEON — CHOP      HOUSES THE      AMERICAN 

OYSTER     AND      CLAM CULINARY      ARISTOCRACY OLD- 
TIME    RESTAURANTS SOME    LARGE   ESTABLISHMENTS— 

THE  KITCHEN    AT  THE   WALDORF THE    LUNCH  CLUBS— 

THE     NEW     YORK     TABLE      D'lIOTE ROOF  -  GARDENS — 

THE       PARK       RESTAURANTS THE       SPORTY      PLACES — 

AMERICAN    MENUS THE    CHINESE  RESTAURANTS THE 

FRENCH,  GERMAN  AND  OTHER  NATIONAL  RESORTS 

WHERE  to  eat,  and  what?— that  is  the 
question.  Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the 
stomach  to  suffer  the  slings  and  arrows  of  out- 
rageous kitchens,  or  to  take  up  arms  against  a 
cuisine  of  troubles,  and  by  going  out  to  a  restau- 
rant increase  them  ? 

New  York  life  is  distinctly  a  homeless,  apart- 
ment existence,  and  the  domestic  problem  has 
ceased  to  be  anything  so  rosy  as  the  struggle  to 
keep  a  good  cook  and  has  become  the  forlorn 
hope  of  keeping  any.  The  distraught  house- 
keeper simply  vibrates  between  the  dining-room 
and  the  employment  bureau,  and  watches  sul- 
tana after  sultana  pass  by.  Erin  gives  place  to 
Bingen,  and  Jap  to  Lap;  Swede  walks  out  as 
Finn  walks  in.  The  comic  papers  make  a 


252  £be  IReal  IRevx)  H>orfc 

staple  of  it,  but  it  is  gruesome  reality  to  the  mis- 
tress who  endures  unheard  of  humiliations  and 
serves  her  servants'  whims. 

The  Spanish  Inquisition  had  a  favorite  in- 
strument of  torture  kriown  as  the  chafing-dish. 
It  has  been  revived  for  the  New  Yorker,  along 
with  the  "diminishing  walls,"  now  known  as  the 
seven-room  flat.  The  average  householder  eats 
out,  or  goes  without,  unless  his  wife  buys  some 
ready-made  food— "no  work,  no  heat;  just 
pray,  then  eat."  Even  the  gastric  juices  have 
formed  a  union  and  the  New  Yorker  must  have 
his  food  masticated  and  digested  for  him  in  a 
factory.  He  can  do  the  rest — with  liberal 
pepsin. 

The  consequence  is  a  shiftlessness  that  is 
appalling  to  the  chance  visitor,  and  the  discon- 
tent is  incredible.  You  will  hear  pale  pluto- 
crats wailing  that  Delmonico's  never  has  any- 
thing fit  to  eat,  and  that  the  guests  at  the  Wal- 
dorf are  starving  to  death.  For  we  all  come  to 
realize  that  bills  of  fare,  like  truffles,  have  never 
been  what  they  used  to  be. 

A  further  consequence  is  that  there  is  an  un- 
precedented rivalry  in  the  effort  to  tempt  and 
tease  the  Manhattan  alimentary  canal  to  a  little 
secretion.  All  the  chefs  of  all  the  nations  juggle 
all  the  cookbooks  into  one  culinary  anthology, 
until  there  is  surely  no  city  on  earth  where  such 
elaborateness  and  variety  distinguish  the  menus. 
Verily,  we  are  in  the  period  of  the  Restauration. 


Wbere  to  lEat 


253 


We  have  everything  that  every  other  nation 
has,  and  all  our  own  besides.  Our  curries 
might  not  satisfy  the  Maharajah  of  Bling,  and 
our  gulyas  might  not  fascinate  either  Buda  or 
Pesth.  But  it  is  not  for  lack  of  having  Hindus 
and  Hungarians  here  to  prepare  them,  and  at 
least  we  have  a  fair  imitation,  while  in  Singa- 
pore you  cannot  get  even  a  bad  roas'in'-ear  of 
green  corn,  nor  in  Versailles  a  soggy  pumpkin 
pie. 

As  for  elegance  of  appointment, 
we  are  Babylonian,  Sardanapalian. 
Other  cities    have   their   splendid 
refectories,  but  the  best  of 
any  of  them  is  not  equal 
to   half  a  dozen  of   ours. 
The    American    becomes 
calloused  by  easy  stages  to 
the  cab  fares  and  the  res- 
taurant prices,  and  if  cost 
is  a  proof  of  anything  ex- 
cept slavery  our  very  tips 
are  enough  to  wring  a  howl 
from  foreign  nobility. 

'  On  the  other  hand,  you  need  not  prate  of  the 
cheapness  of  life  abroad,  and  talk  of  your  little 
cafes  in  the  outskirts  of  Paris  or  of  some 
sewage-perfumed  wharf  of  Venice  where  Lucul- 
lan feasts  may  be  had  for  the  Lazarine  obol. 
For  here,  too,  New  York  is  not  lacking.  In  un- 
counted nooks  there  lurk  little  restaurants  where 


AT  DENNETT'S 


254  £be  iReal  IRew 


some  lowly  genius  takes  more  pride  in  his  cook- 
ery than  in  the  purity  of  his  napery  or  the  gleam 
of  his  front  windows.  Or  he  who  will  lay  aside 
the  hypocrisy  of  the  untidy  will  find  that  the 
town  is  fairly  sprinkled  with  lunch-rooms  where, 
at  ridiculous  prices  of  five  and  ten  cents,  one  may 
eat  the  most  delicious  cereals,  wheat  cakes  of 
Titian  hue  and  truly  contemporary  eggs,  while 
he  sips  surpassing  coffee  under  high-tiled  ceil- 
ings and  in  glistening  walls  that  a  Pompeian 
nobleman  would  have  envied.  The  sanitary 
mind  will  forgive  the  clatter  for  the  sake  of  the 
neatness. 

It  was  of  our  national  delicacy,  the  buckwheat 
cake,  that  Matthew  Arnold  made  an  observa- 
tion of  surprisingly  poor  acumen.  He  and  his 
wife  were  entertained  at  an  American  home. 
The  breakfast  ended  in  a  glorious  tower  of 
buckwheat  porous  plasters.  Mrs.  Arnold  de- 
clined them  with  suspicious  timidity.  St.  Mat- 
thew was  persuaded  to  nibble.  Turning  to  his 
wife,  he  drawled,  "Try  them,  my  d'yah,  they're 
not  half  so  nahsty  as  they  look." 

To  have  complained  of  them  after  they  had 
lain  on  his  "little  Mary"  for  some  time  might 
have  been  excusable,  but  a  word  against  their 
auburn  beauty  was  only  a  proof  of  an  inartistic 
eye.  The  English  never  had  a  sense  of  color. 

De  Peyster  and  Calverly  were  at  it,  as  usual, 
over  their  respective  cities.  De  Peyster  broke 
out: 


Wbere  to  Eat  255 

:<You  cannot  get  at  any  price  at  any  London 
hotel  a  cup  of  coffee  as  good  as  you  can  get  at 
any  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  places  in  New 
York  for  five  cents.  At  the  A  B  C  restaurants 
alone  in  London  can  one  be  sure  of  good  coffee, 
but  they  are  all  slovenly.  The  Duval  places  in 
Paris  are  clean  but  comparatively  high-priced. 
The  New  York  lunch-rooms  are  not  only  very 
cheap,  but  they  show  affidavits  proving  that  they 
buy  the  most  expensive  coffees  in  the  market;  the 
proprietors  keep  their  own  dairies,  cultivate  their 
own  maple  syrup  forests,  preserve  their  own 
fruits  and  make  their  own  breads  and  pastries. 
The  Childs,  the  Hartford,  the  New  Haven,  the 
Charter  Oak  and  other  lunch-room  systems  are 
legion,  but  they  are  all  clean.  People  laugh  at 
the  places  bearing  the  name  of  Dennett,  be- 
cause of  their  Biblical  mottoes.  One  sign  as- 
sures you  that  the  Lord  is  your  shepherd,  but 
the  next  warns  you  to  '  Keep  your  eye  on  your 
overcoat.'  Still,  if  ever  religion  showed  its 
fruits  it  is  in  this  immaculate  service  and  honest 
cookery.  You  are  invited  to  visit  the  kitchen, 
and  you  are  not  expected  to  tip. 

"And  they  are  open  all  night,  while  in  Lon- 
don the  belated  must  seek  a  filthy  coffee  stand 
or  wait  for  his  breakfast  tea." 

The  New  Yorker  takes  his  breakfast  at  home, 
as  a  rule,  and,  from  the  influence  of  Europe,  it 
is  likely  to  be  limited  to  fruit,  coffee  and  rolls, 
unless  he  still  sticks  to  the  national  custom  of 


256  £be  IReal  IRew  JPorfc 

eating  an  early  morning  dinner,  or,  as  a  result 
of  the  physical  culture  crusades,  wisely  skips 
breakfast  altogether. 

Luncheon  no  New  York  man  takes  with  his 
family.  It  is  one  of  the  evils  of  the  shape  of  the 
city  that  everybody's  home  is  too  far  north  to 
reach  and  return  from  at  the  lunch  hour.  This 
has  its  effect  on  the  domestic  situation  and  the 
divorce  courts. 

There  are  numberless  places  downtown  which 
serve  practically  nothing  but  lunches,  and  their 
whole  day's  work  is  preparing  for  and  recover- 
ing from  a  mad  flood  of  humanity  at  the  noon 
crevasse.  These  places  range  from  the  little  can- 
opied stands  where  harrowing  pies  and  lyddite 
doughnuts  are  gobbled  by  office  boys  to  the 
downtown  Delmonico's  or  Robbins's  or  the  Sa- 
varin,  where  multi-millionaires  try  to  force  deli- 
cacies on  their  dyspepsias.  At  the  St.  Andrew 
coffee  stands  a  huge  cup  of  coffee  or  tea  is  given 
for  one  cent,  and  the  tamale  man,  with  his  Mex- 
ican dish  and  his  cry,  "All  hot,  all  hot!"  rivals  the 
dealer  in  Vienna  sausage.  The  luxurious  can 
polish  off  with  a  penny's  worth  of  dubious  ice 
cream  served  on  a  scrap  of  paper  by  an  Italian 
whose  hands  are  rich  in  local  color. 

The  buffet  lunch  is  a  curious  scheme  for  sav- 
ing chair  space  and  waiters'  fees.  You  wander 
about  and  help  yourself  to  various  articles,  all 
price-marked,  eat  them  standing  at  round  ped- 
estals, and,  as  you  go  out,  declare  your  own 


THE  HURDY  GURDY  DANCE 


Mbcre  to  Eat  257 

bill  to  the  man  at  the  wheel,  who  whirls  you 
out  a  ticket,  which  you  cash  in  at  the  door. 
Few  people  will  cheat  for  the  sake  of  a  few  pen- 
nies, and  an  eye  is  kept  on  the  over-hearty. 

In  the  "Automat"  restaurant  one  drops  coins 
into  slots  and  receives  a  viand  which  he  drops 
into  another  slot.'  There  is  also  a  company 
which  delivers  cold  lunches  in  paper  boxes  at 
your  office,  just  as  there  are  companies  that  pro- 
vide clean  towels  and  soap. 

London  has  long  had  vegetarian  restaurants. 
They  are  just  coming  in  here,  under  bland  and 
ladylike  titles,  such  as  "The  White  Rose"  or 
"The  Laurel."  But  even  for  those  who  do  not 
believe  in  limiting  themselves  to  a  single  mania 
it  is  worth  while  dropping  in  at  these  places  on 
occasion  to  give  the  stomach  a  rest  from  the 
meat-chopping  wear  and  tear.  The  prices  at 
these  restaurants  are  very  low;  hence  they 
have  not  interested  the  general  public,  which 
likes  to  pay  for  novelties.  The  vegetarians  get 
up  various  amusing  fooleries  in  imitation  of 
steaks,  cutlets,  filets  and  ducks;  they  call  them 
"true  meats"  and  get  their  black  effects  with 
nuttose  and  protose  and  other  "  oses."  Even  the 
coffee  is  made  out  of  blistered  peanuts — or  at 
least  so  it  tastes.  But  the  vegetables  are  amaz- 
ingly well  cooked,  and  have  quite  a  new  taste 
when  there  are  no  meats  to  distract  the  palate. 
And  they  do  wonderful  things  with  fresh  mush- 
rooms and  nuts.  Sometimes  they  serve  a  black 


258  £be  IReal  IRew  H>orft 

cream  of  mushrooms  that  is  worthy  of  a  pluto- 
crat. 

The  chop  house  is  an  adaptation  of  the  Eng- 
lish grill-room,  though  few  of  them  invite  you 
to  select  your  own  chop  and  watch  it  brown  on 
the  hissing  gridiron,  as  they  so  appetizingly  man- 
age it  in  London.  Still,  we  have  Farrish's,  in 
John  Street;  Engel's,  near  Herald  Square,  and 
Brown's,  opposite  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House,  which  are  much  frequented  of  actors  and 
singers  and  have  fascinating  collections  of  old 
prints  and  quaint  photographs. 

But  in  compensation  for  our  inferior  chops 
we  have  what  England  lacks — a  real  oyster.  He 
holds  court  in  numberless  oyster  "bays,"  in  rough- 
and-ready  stands  near  Fulton  Market,  where  a 
deft  gentleman  nicely  splits  the  horny  shell  and 
proffers  the  delicacy  on  the  pearly  lower  half;  or 
the  more  ornate  places,  like  Dorlon's,  O'Neill's, 
Shanley's,  Jack's,  Burns's,  Kennerley's,  Still's 
and  the  like. 

England  has  a  pathetic  little  pickley  affair,  of 
which  one  can  only  say,  "  God  made  it,  therefore 
let  it  pass  for  an  oyster" ;  but  the  Englishman 
himself  is  the  first  to  pay  homage  to  the  Amer- 
ican bivalve,  sweet,  succulent  and  varying  in 
area  from  the  aristocratic  Blue  Point  to  the 
leviathan  from  Saddle  Rock,  concerning  which 
Thackeray,  when  first  he  achieved  one,  ex- 
claimed, with  cannibal  glee:  "I  feel  as  if  I  had 
swallowed  a  baby!" 


Wbere  to  Cat  259 

And  then  there  are  clams!  Think  of  it! 
Europe  has  only  metaphorical  clams.  No  won- 
der Columbus  discovered  America.  But  what 
did  those  ante-1492-ers  eat  when  there  was  no 
"r"  in  the  month? 

How  long  would  King  Saul  have  sulked  had 
he  only  been  able  to  go  down  to  some  near- 
New  York  beach  and  have  a  shore  dinner  on 
the  sand  ?  It  begins  with  clam  broth,  then  fol- 
low clams  on  the  half-moon,  succeeded  by  a 
luxurious  clam  chowder,  as  a  prelude  to  the 
stewed  clams,  whose  empty  shells,  thrown  over 
the  shoulder  as  a  libation  to  the  gods,  measure 
the  honorable  capacity  of  each  guest  by  the 
height  of  the  monument  behind  him. 

But  this  is  getting  far  from  town  and  the 
grinding  lunch-hour.  Wednesday  De  Peyster 
invited  his  sister  and  Calverly  and  Miss  Collis— 
now  "Myrtle,"  thanks  to  Calverly — to  drift 
about  downtown  and  see  the  jewelry  shops  of 
Maiden  Lane,  the  Stock  Exchange  and  such 
like.  For  luncheon  he  invited  them  to  the 
Savarin. 

De  Peyster  was  one  of  those  who  take  their 
meals  studiously,  and  he  tried  usually  to  get  on 
terms  of  friendship  with  the  chef  at  any  place 
he  frequented.  The  chef  at  the  Savarin  was 
one  of  his  most  valued  acquaintances. 

"We  have  had  eminent  cooks  in  New  York," 
said  De  Peyster,  "including  some  of  the  highest 
salaried  men  in  the  world,  with  salaries  of  $10,- 


260  £be  IReal  IRew  lj>orfc 

000  or  so  a  year — the  wages  of  a  Secretary  of 
War.  We  have  had  cooks  of  distinction,  too. 
America  got  its  first  fondness  for  ices  from  an  old 
French  nobleman  who  fled  from  the  Revolu- 
tionary guillotine  and  became  a  fashionable 
caterer  in  New  York.  His  delicate  confections 
drove  out  the  English  puddings  and  custards. 
New  York's  table  customs  in  the  managing  of 
knife,  fork  and  spoon  are  also  more  Parisian 
than  English.  The  average  American  child 
would  be  sent  to  bed  for  using  a  knife  after  the 
manner  of  an  English  duchess.  Then  there 
was  an  Italian  exile,  il  Cavaliere  Buchignani, 
who  founded  a  restaurant  in  Third  Avenue 
near  the  Academy  of  Music,  when  that  was  our 
grand  opera  house.  He  had  all  the  big  warb- 
lers for  his  guests,  and  they  vocalized  his  garlic 
everywhere. 

"  Many  of  the  French  cooks  are  college  gradu- 
ates— B.A.'s  and  Litt.  D.'s.  The  head  waiter 
at  Delmonico's  sent  his  two  sons  to  Yale  and 
his  two  daughters  to  Vassar. 

"The  chef  here  at  the  Savarin  is  a  Bachelor  of 
Arts  from  the  University  of  France  at  Bordeaux. 
He  has  $7,500  a  year  and  his  meals — and  a  con- 
tract for  ten  years.  He  has  fifty  men  under  him 
in  the  kitchen.  Luncheon  is  the  only  meal  they 
give  in  large  quantities,  but  between  11.30  in 
the  morning  and  3  in  the  afternoon  they  serve 
an  average  of  6,000  persons  a  day.  There  are 
five  or  six  large  dining-rooms,  besides  a  Law- 


Wbere  to  i£at 


261 


yers'    Club.      The    kitchen    is    on    the    eighth 
floor." 

De  Peyster  sent  his  card  to  the  chef  and,  when 
the  rush  was  over,  he  was  invited  up.  The 
elevator  to  the  eighth  floor  landed  them  in  a 
lofty  and  airy  space  of  ferocious  cleanliness. 
Son  Altesse  le  Chef  showed  them  the  multiplex 
pneumatic  tube  system,  by  which  the  guests' 
orders  came  popping  up  with  requests  for 
"rosbif  saignant"  or  "bien  cuit"  —  the  con- 
sumption of  hot  roast  beef  sandwiches  by  hasty 
lawyers  or  brokers  is  stupendous.  Luncheon 
is  served  in  nine  departments,  each  with  its  own 
color  of  order  card.  Twelve  dumbwaiters  were 
banging  up  and  down  to  disprove  their  name. 
Bells  buzzed,  whistles  shrieked,  voices  roared. 
An  order  received  at  the  desk  was  howled  out 
by  the  clerk,  taken  up  by  the  potato  cooks, 
passed  along  by  the  vegetable  men,  echoed  by 
the  specialists  in  soup,  sung 
along  by  the  artist  in  pastries, 
reverberated  by  the  eggists, 
faintly  repeated  by  the  keen- 
eyed  superintendent  at  the  sph% 
w^here  a  great  roast  revolved 
before  a  vertical  bank  of  coals, 
and  finally  acknowledged  by 
the  master  of  the  game. 

Other  establishments  have 
even  more  elaborate  plants. 
Places  like  the  Holland,  the 


A    NEW   YORKER 


262  £be  IReal  IRew  JI)orfc 

Majestic,  Delmonico's,  the  Imperial,  Sherry's, 
the  Manhattan,  the  Grand  Union,  the  Hoffman 
House,  the  Fifth  Avenue  and  the  others  serve 
one  continual  meal  from  morning  to  morning, 
both  to  their  thousand  or  more  guests  and  to  a 
ceaseless  stream  of  casual  visitors.  At  Sherry's 
there  are  sixteen  chefs  and  200  kitchen  em- 
ployees. The  Waldorf-Astoria  has  by  far  the 
largest  army,  in  command  of  General  Oscar. 
It  is  said  that  he  has  1,500  employees  under  him, 
including  thirty-five  chefs. 

In  a  separate  "studio"  is  a  pastry  poet  who 
designs  banquet  confections  in  the  forms  of 
portraits,  statuary  or  big  electric  structures. 

There  is  something  very  plebeian  in  the 
quantities  of  foodstuffs  devoured  by  the  well- 
groomed  cattle  that  feed  here.  In  one  day 
they  carry  away: 

5,000  loaves  of  bread, 

20,000  rolls, 

300  chickens, 

25  barrels  of  potatoes, 

6,500  eggs, 

500  gallons  of  milk, 

600  gallons  of  soup, 

1,000  pounds  of  roast  beef, 

500  gallons  of  coffee. 

At  Delmonico's,  famous  for  its  game,  1,500 
quail  are  eaten  a  month,  and  more  than  fifty  gal- 
lons of  their  famous  chocolate  are  guzzled  every 
afternoon.  At  Maillard's  even  more  litres  of  the 


Wbere  to  Eat  263 

black  syrup  are  consumed  by  the  women  who 
flock  there,  though  it  is  hinted  that  not  all  is 
chocolate  that  goes  into  the  cups. 

There  is  some  effort  to  mitigate  the  horrors 
of  the  noon  scramble  for  lunch,  and  there  are 
various  clubs.  The  Downtown  Club  fills  a 
large  building  with  throngs  of  capitalists.  The 
exchanges  have  their  clubrooms,  the  lawyers 
and  other  professions  and  trades  have  theirs. 
At  the  Hardware  Club,  in  City  Hall  Park,  the 
Mayor  usually  eats.  The  Uptown  Club,  in 
the  Constable  Building,  combines  business  men 
and  publishers.  Then  there  is  the  Women's 
Lunch  Club,  whose  members  regale  themselves, 
when  shopping,  on  salads  of  recherche  design 
and  ice  cream  overpoured  with  maple  syrup 
and  walnuts,  and  other  innovations  of  endless 
charm. 

And  so,  all  things  considered,  one  who  wishes 
to  lunch  in  New  York  should  find  something  to 
his  taste  and  time. 

As  the  French  twins  had  bewailed  the  lack 
of  sidewalk  cafes,  so  the  Englishman  cursed 
the  absence  of  barmaids  and  tea  shops. 

"I  agree  with  you  about  the  barmaids,"  said 
De  Peyster;  "they  are  the  only  women  in  Lon- 
don who  know  how  to  dress  simply.  They  are 
the  most  artistically  gowned  women  you  have. 
But  I'm  glad  we  have  no  flower-girls,  for  I  never 
saw  one  abroad  that  was  pretty  or  clean.  We 
have  a  few  newsgirls — they're  bad  enough. 


264  £be  IReal 

''The  tea  habit  has  never  fastened  on  New  York. 
We  get  our  dyspepsia  otherwise.  I  don't  mind 
the  fact  that  all  the  pretty  tea-rooms  that  have 
been  started  have  failed,  but  I  regret  the  absence 
of  tea  regularity  in  the  home.  Many  people  serve 
it  if  you  want  it,  but  it  is  not  an  institution  as 
with  you.  We  manage  better  with  dinners  and 
suppers.  Where  would  you  like  to  dine  to- 
night?" 

"Where  would  be  the  best  place?"  said 
Myrtle. 

"Dining  in  New  York  is  like  other  forms  of 
religious  worship.  There's  something  for  every 
taste.  In  London  all  restaurants  serve  the  same 
thing.  It's  only  the  prices  that  vary.  They 
have  grand  old  roast  beef,  mutton  that  we  can't 
compete  with  and  the  usual  asbestos  veal. 
London  has  six  vegetables — potatoes,  Brussels 
sprouts,  salsify  or  oyster  plant,  parsnips,  Brus- 
sels sprouts  and  potatoes — and  boils  them  all. 
Then  there  are  246  kinds  of  tarts  and  puddings, 
including  the  glorious  plum  pudding,  which  they 
make  one  Christmas  and  eat  the  next.  The 
wines  are  genuine  and  they  are  gloriously  cheap 
—old  sherries  and  the  best  champagnes  for  the 
price  of  mediocre  clarets  here.  But  the  ices  are 
bad,  and  they  charge  a  high  price  for  miserably 
small  portions.  In  New  York  you  can  get  al- 
most anything  that  has  ever  been  heard  of,  served 
in  every  imaginable  style,  at  every  imaginable 
price." 


Wbere  to  Eat 


265 


The  table  d'hote  dinner  ranges  from  $2  with- 
out wine  to  forty  cents  vin  compris.  For  forty 
cents  you  can  get  a. wet  napkin,  a  dirty  table- 
cloth, tiny  portions  of  tough  meat,  good  spa- 
ghetti and  a  roast  English  sparrow  with  a  bottle 
—called  a  half -bottle — of  "grand  old  vin  ordi- 
naire," otherwise  called  red  ink;  or,  for  $1.25, 


THE    SYRIAN    CAPE 


you  can  enjoy  a  banquet  at  Martin's,  as  French 
as  France,  with  its  mirrors,  long  wall  seats, 
marble  tables  and  its  lively  frescoes  by  Leftwich 
Dodge.  There  is  an  open  air  terrace  in  sum- 
mer— the  nearest  approach  we  have  to  a  side- 
walk cafe.  On  a  summer  night  it  is  fine  to 
linger  over  your  demi-tasse  and  look  through 
your  cigar  smoke  across  Madison  Square  at  the 
stalwart  figure  of  Saint- Gaudens's  Farragut,  and 
beyond  to  the  Garden  tower  above  its  trees. 


266  £be  iReal  IRew  !!>orfc 

Then  there  is  the  Cafe  des  Beaux- Arts,  where 
for  $1.50  you  eat  choicely  and  hear  Italian  sing- 
ers caroling  their  gondola  spngs. 

In  the  Savoy,  at  the  men's  cafe,  they  give 
you  a  wonderful  menu,  with  frequent  terrapin, 
for  $1.  It  costs  more  in  the  other  rooms,  but 
then  you  can  eat  in  the  hall  of  the  beautiful 
Caryatides,  or  you  can  sit  about  in  low  wicker 
armchairs.  One  of  the  pleasantest  and  costli- 
est places  is  Sherry's.  It  might  be  spelled 
$herry's.  In  summer  there  is  a  terrace,  and  the 
waiters  are  coolishly  dressed  in  white  linen  suits 
trimmed  with  red.  In  some  ways  it  is  our  most 
aristocratic  eating  place — at  least  until  the  new 
Hotel  Astor  is  opened. 

Cattycorner  to  Sherry's  is  the  exquisite  new 
Italian  palazzo  which  James  Brown  Lord  de- 
signed for  the  Delmonico  dynasty — which  has 
been  an  American  proverb  for  elegance  ever  since 
it  was  founded  in  1826  by  the  two  humble  broth- 
ers, Peter  and  John,  from  Switzerland.  The 
Majestic,  the  Ansonia,  the  Cafe  de  Paris  on  the 
upper  West  Side,  are  all  gorgeous  shrines,  where 
high  quality  weds  high  price.  Best  of  all,  they 
have  roof -gardens  in  the  summer,  and  there  can 
be  nothing  more  beautiful  than  to  dine  far  above 
the  world  in  the  open  air,  under  the  stars,  with 
the  moonlit  river  in  the  distance  and  a  spring 
breeze  tugging  at  the  napery  and  winnowing  your 
soul. 

'  The  roof -garden  dining-room,"  said  De  Peys- 


Wbere  to  fiat 


267 


ter,  "is  a  glorious  compensation  for  the  lack  of 
sidewalk  cafes.  Then  we  have  Claremont,  over- 
looking the  Palisades,  and  in  Central  Park  two 
restaurants,  the  Casino  and  M'Gowan's  Pass. 
They  have  nearly  the  same  beauty  as  the  roof- 
gardens,  though  they  are  on  the  level — a  thing 
that  can't  be  said  of  quite  all  their  guests. 
M'Gowan's  Pass  was  named  after  a  farm-boy 
who  saved  a  part  of  the  retreating 
American  army  in  1776  by  volun- 
teering to  guide  the  foreigners 
and  then  misleading  them." 

"That  seems  to  be  a  favorite 
New  York  trick,"  said  Calverly. 
"I'd  like  to  dine  where  there  is 
no  music." 

"The  Holland  House  is  one  of 
the  few  that  has  that  distinction," 
said  De  Peyster;  "but  it's  a  little 
too  respectable  for  you,  Calverly. 
Some  night  we'll  go  out  together 
to  Shanley's;  it's  a  great  place  for 
game — and  dead  game  sports.  They  have 
one  dining-room  arranged  as  a  Roman  court. 
Rector's  is  also  very  lively  as  well  as  gorgeous, 
and  the  scene  of  merrymaking  there  on  New 
Year's  Eve  is  one  of  the  after-midnight  sights 
of  the  year.  The  Hotel  Imperial  has  a  palm 
room  that  has  seen  some  informality.  We 
must  go  to  Muschenheim's  Arena;  that  is  the 
chief  stamping-ground  of  college  men  and 


A 

NEW 
YORKER 


268  Gbe  IRcal  IRew  lj?orh 

has   a  fine  array  of  trophies  and  athletic  em- 
blems." 

"But  is  there  any  place  that  is  particularly 
American?"  said  Calverly. 

"  There  is  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  where  corn- 
bread  is  served  with  the  rolls.  The  Grand  Union 
serves  a  very  fine  steak  on  a  plank.  This  is 
owned  by  Simeon  Ford,  one  of  the  chief  after- 
dinner  humorists. 

"The  Westminster  gives  a  Southern  dinner  of 
fried  chicken  and  sweet  potatoes.  Then  there's 
Healy's,  which  makes  a  specialty  of  dinners  of 
nothing  but  beefsteak.  This  is  served  in  the 
crypt  on  barrels  and  boards.  You  wear  an  apron 
up  to  your  chin  and  eat  the  luscious  tenderloin 
served  on  bread,  without  knife  or  fork  and  with 
only  celery  and  beer  to  accompany  it." 

Miss  Collis,  however,  was  tired  of  American 
food.  She  said  she  wanted  something  foreign. 

"Almost  every  nationality  is  represented  by 
a  dining-room  and  a  cook,"  said  De  Peyster. 
'The  lady  from  San  Francisco  is  tired  of  Chi- 
nese food,  but  there  are  dozens  of  more  or  less 
picturesque  chop  suey  places  all  over  town.  The 
meals  are  cooked  and  served  by  Chinese,  but 
the  patrons  are  mostly  of  a  low  class,  and  negroes 
seem  especially  fond  of  Celestial  fare.  Chicken 
is  their  common  bond  of  friendship. 

'There  are  many  French  restaurants  besides 
those  I've  spoken  of — the  Logerot,  Mouquin's 
two  places,  the  Lafayette-Brevoort,  which  took 


Mbcre  to  JEat  209 

the  place  where  Martin's  grew  famous  before  it 
moved  up  to  Delmonico's  old  place.  At  these 
places  you  can  practise  your  French  on  the 
waiter,  though  if  it's  very  bad  he  will  answer 
in  English." 

"Of  all  insults  that's  the  worst,"  said  Cal- 
verly.  "  A  waiter  ought  to  be  discharged  for  it." 

"  There  are  other  places  where  you  can  polish 
your  German  accent  and  get  Teutonic  archi- 
tecture as  well  as  beer,  Rhine  wines  and  solids. 
The  German  resorts  are  too  numerous  to  count, 
and  the  German  usually  has  his  whole  family 
with  him  wherever  he  goes.  His  wife  and  his 
children  sit  round  and  take  their  beer  in  a  man- 
ner shocking  to  many  Americans,  but  very  beau- 
tiful from  a  domestic  point  of  view.  Scheffel 
Hall  and  the  Hofbrauhaus  are  reproductions  of 
German  beer  palaces,  with  walls  and  rafters 
covered  with  drinking  scenes  and  legends  from 
German  poetry  and  with  steins  of  elaborate  de- 
sign. Terrace  Garden  is  a  huge  establishment 
with  music  and  vaudeville,  and,  in  summer, 
Strauss's  comic  operas  are  given  in  German. 

"The  musicians  and  the  musical  critics  frequent 
Luchow's  in  Fourteenth  Street  or  Mock's  in  For- 
ty-second Street.  Reisenweber's  and  Pabst's 
Grand  Circle  are  two  others  where  the  cooking 
is  apt  to  be  good  and  the  beer  sure  to  be.  In 
fact,  you  can  hardly  turn  round  without  strik- 
ing some  odd  German  resort,  from  Atlantic  Gar- 
den down  on  the  Bowery  up  to  Pabst's  in  Har- 


270  £be  iReal  IRew  lj?orfc 

lem  and  on  to  High  Bridge.  There  is  one  over- 
looking the  entrance  to  the  Speedway. 

"  The  Italians  have  some  of  our  best  restau- 
rants. The  Moretti  dinner  is  famous,  and  Mor- 
ello's  has  been  a  rival  for  years.  Then  there  are 
two  places  claiming  the  name  of  Roversi's,  and 
the  so-called  Spaghetti  House,  besides  Gaz- 
zo's,  Zangheri's  (which  has  a  so-called  'Jolly 
Dungeon'),  Maria  da  Prato's,  Gonfarone's,  Guf- 
fanti's,  dozens  everywhere. 

:<The  Hungarian  restaurants  are  next  in  num- 
ber to  the  Italian,  and  include  the  Hotel  Hun- 
garia,  the  Cafe  Boulevard,  Little  Hungary,  Lor- 
ber's  Art  Nouveau  in  Grand  Street,  with  its 
Cupid's  Cafe,  and  many  others. 

"Far  down  in  Washington  Street  is  a  Syrian 
cafe  where  rice  is  cooked  with  everything,  in- 
cluding curdled  milk  and  sweetened  milk.  They 
serve  also  a  sort  of  tamale  made  of  rice,  spice 
and  cabbage.  In  Madison  Street  is  a  Greek 
restaurant  where  the  favorite  dishes  are  chicken 
in  rice  and  bread  fried  in  honey. 

'There  are  also  restaurants  kept  by  Turks, 
Swedes,  Finns,  Russians,  Bohemians— 

"That's  what  I  want  to  see,"  said  Miss  Collis. 
"  Something  truly  Bohemian.  That's  what  Paris 
is  so  famous  for.  Is  there  such  a  thing  in  New 
York?" 

De  Peyster  met  her  promptly.  "We'll  have 
to  go  on  the  hunt  for  it  this  very  night." 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE   HUNT  FOR  BOHEMIA BOHEMIA!    WHERE    AND   WHAT 

IS    IT? THE     OLD     BOHEMIA     AT     "MARIA's" PROFES- 
SIONAL     BOHEMIANS IMITATION      BOHEMIANISM THE 

SECRET     HAUNTS     OF    BOHEMIANS QUICK    GROWTH    OF 

THE     BOHEMIAN     CAFES CAFE     LIBERTY HUNGARIAN 

DISHES,   SAUCES,   WINES  AND   MUSIC THE   ONLY   BOHE- 
MIANS ARE   HUNGARIANS 


TTS  THERE  is  Bohemia?" 

VV  "Where  is  to-morrow?" 
"Well,  then,  what  is  Bohemia?" 
'There  are  as  many  definitions  as  there  are 
stars  in  the  Milky  Way.  What  would  be  Bo- 
hemian in  a  society  woman  would  be  snobbishly 
conventional  in  an  editor's  wife.  What  would 
be  Bohemian  in  an  editor's  wife  would  be  prim 
indeed  in  a  chorus  girl.  Bohemia  is  largely  a 
matter  of  income  and  profession  and  personal- 
ity. Bohemia  may  be  one  of  the  tables  at  a 
church  festival;  and  philistinism  may  sit  and 
eat  its  spaghetti  with  knife  and  fork  in  the  din- 
giest little  forty-cent  dinner  table  d'hote  restau- 
rant in  Twenty-eighth  Street.  But  here  comes 
a  literary  man,  let  us  ask  him." 

They  were  seated  in  "  Peacock  Alley"  at  the 
Waldorf.     They    saw    Simes    approaching;   he 


272  £be  IReal  IRew  JJ?orfc 

had  a  harrowed  look  and  was  plainly  making 
for  the  cafe. 

"We  were  talking  of  Bohemia,"  said  De 
Peyster.  "Miss  Collis  wonders  if  there  is  any 
Bohemianism  in  New  York." 

"There  are  oodles  of  it,"  said  Simes,  "or  of 
violent  attempts  at  it.  When  I  first  came  to 
New  Yawk  I  was,  of  course,  full  of  Murger's 
'Vie  de  Boheme,'  and  was  restless  to  find  Bo- 
hemia in  New  Yawk.  I  felt  that  I  was  a  genius, 
and  that  every  genius  is  a  gipsy  by  nature. 
Soon  after  I  arrived  I  made  some  acquaintances 
who  constantly  spoke  of  Bohemia  and  'Maria's' 
as  the  same  place.  I  was  finally  honored  with 
an  invitation  to  come  along.  It  was  down  in 
Twelfth  Street — a  slovenly  little  basement,  and 
what  we  should  have  called  a  cheap  bo'ding- 
ho'se  down  So'th.  I  was  most  amazed  at 
the  long  yahdsticks  of  bread  and  the  enormous 
bowls  of  soup,  and  the  way  they  had  of  sprinkling 
powdered  cheese  oveh  everything,  soup  included- 
And  they  put  large  chunks  of  ice  in  the  claret— 
a  combination  I  was  brought  up  to  believe  a 
sacrilege.  I  was  taken  out  in  the  kitchen  and 
introduced  to  Maria  with  a  great  flourish.  She 
was  a  large  Italian  cook,  with  her  sleeves  rolled 
up,  and  it  ratheh  amazed  me  to  see  how  defer- 
ential her  guests  were,  and  how  proud  anybody 
was  to  whom  she  spoke  an  extra  word.  I  un- 
derstood this  betteh  when  I  learned  that  a  good 
many  of  the  men  owed  her  for  their  bo'd,  and 


A  BUSY  SATURDAY  NIGHT 


1bunt  for  Bobemia          273 

that  it  was  generally  believed  that  one  or  two 
of  them  got  their  meals  free  for  acting — as — well, 
we  would  call  them — cappehs,  or  pullers-in, 
anywhere  else;  but  here  they  were  called  mas- 
tehs  of  the  ceremonies. 

"There  was  what  they  called  an  al  fresco 
dining-room,  which  consisted  of  a  large  shed 
in  the  back  yahd.  The  guests  were  a  strange 
ragout.  Some  of  them  were  plainly  business 
men  tryin'  to  understand  what  they  had  struck; 
othehs  of  them  were  hahd-headed  philistines 
making  a  pitiful  attempt  at  being  hilarious  in  a 
talented  manneh.  My  friends  pointed  out  the 
celebrities.  Some  of  them  were  long-haired, 
but  few  of  them  had  even  that  supposed  sign  of 
temperament;  most  of  them  were  only  seedy. 
The  most  curious  thing  about  the  celebrities  was 
that,  while  I  had  been  reading  all  the  magazine 
and  book  reviews  for  yeahs  and  yeahs,  I  had 
never  even  heard  of  any  of  these  great  men.  I 
have  heard  of  them  since,  as  I  have  heard  of 
certain  druggists  and  grocers  and  policemen, 
through  living  in  the  same  town.  A  few  of  them 
had  a  tired  look,  as  if  they  had  been  honestly 
working — these  were  the  newspapeh  men,  who 
are  driven  like  dogs  in  a  treadmill,  who  often 
spend  brilliant  abilities  on  unworthy  jobs  and 
whose  really  good  work  is  published  anony- 
mously and  crowded  out  of  memory  by  the  next 
day's  news. 

"But   most   of  the   Bohemians   were   simply 

18 


274  £be  iRcal  IRcw 

loafehs,  who  preferred  red  ink  to  black,  ciga- 
rettes to  pens,  and  who  would  ratheh  talk  about 
the  great  things  they  were  going  to  do  than  to  do 
something  good,  and  they  made  themselves 
proud  by  finding  fault  with  the  work  of  men  who" 
were  succeeding,  instead  of  giving  the  public 
the  advantage  of  their  own  superior  gifts. 

"  During  that  evening  I  heard  every  editor  in 
New  York  called  a  low-browed  ignoramus,  and 
it  seemed  to  be  the  unforgivable  sin  in  any 
author  to  get  a  story,  a  book  or  poem  into  actual 
print. 

"Well,  as  the  dinneh  went  along  it  grew  mer- 
rieh  and  merrieh,  and  there  were  some  witty 
things  said.  But  you  will  hear  witty  things  in 
the  conversations  of  a  street  cah  conductor  and 
the  motorman.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  fa- 
miliarity in  the  behavior  of  some  of  the  couples 
and  a  certain  amount  of  love-making  that  would 
have  been  more  impressive  if  it  had  not  been 
so  promiscuous.  Then  there  were  speeches  and 
stories,  songs  and  poems.  Many  of  these  were 
very  pleasant  to  heah,  and  none  of  them  was 
without  a  certain  charm,  but  they  almost  all 
lacked  the  final  earnestness,  the  real  grip  that 
comes  from  constant  exercise  in  trying  to  get  a 
grip.  They  usually  lacked  real  conviction  and 
real  workmanship.  They  showed  the  'pren- 
tice hand  or  the  lazy  hand,  and  you  began  to 
realize  how  it  was  that  these  men  did  not  get 
their  works  more  often  printed,  why  these 


Cbe  1bunt  for  Bobemia          275 

women  did  not  get  their  books  finished  or  pub- 
lished, and  why  these  submerged  actresses  were 
always  the  victims  and  never  the  victors  over  the 
'jealousy'  of  stars. 

"I  had  come  to  New  Yawk  full  of  illusions 
and  full  of  detummination.  I  found  my  illusions 
slippin'  away  like  smoke  wreaths  and  my  de- 
tummination evaporatin'  into  a  lazy  'what's  the 
use?' 

"Then  I  took  myself  by  the  back  of  the  neck 
and  said :  '  See  heah,  Peteh  Simes,  Bohemia  may 
be  a  ve'y  nice  place,  and  fo'  those  that  like  that 
sawt  of  thing  it  is  about  the  sawt  of  thing  they 
like ;  but  f o'  a  man  that  wants  to  work  and  take 
a  pride  in  his  work  and  to  keep  up  a  detummina- 
tion to  make  that  work  as  good  as  possible  and 
as  successful  as  possible,  Bohemia  is  the  wrong 
place. 

"I  like  to  go  back  now  and  then,  as  I  like  to 
go  to  Coney  Island,  once  or  twice  a  yeah,  but  it 
is  a  place  of  more  pathos  than  recreation  to  me, 
for  the  only  Bohemians  that  work  are  the  news- 
paper men  and  the  newspaper  artists,  and  they 
are  grinding  their  souls  away  with  little  to  show 
for  it.  As  for  the  rest,  the  dreamers,  they  are 
still  dreamin'.  Some  day  they'll  wake  up  and 
say,  like  Rip  Van  Winkle,  'Wheah  am  I? 
Whence  came  these  gray  hairs  ?  How  the  world 
has  changed!' 

"Then  there  are  the  professional  Bohemians, 
heah  just  as  in  Paris,  who  posture  and  pretend 


276 

and  get  their  meals  and  drinks  free.  They  are 
meant  to  draw. the  gullible  philistines  to  certain 
restaurants,  where  they  will  forget  what  bad 
stuff  they  are  drinkin'  and  eatin'  in  the  raptur- 
ous thought  that  they  are  makin'  a  visit  to 
Bohemia. 

"Of  co'se,  there  is  anotheh  sawt  of  life  that 
is  sometimes  mistaken  for  Bohemia.  That  is  the 
relaxation  of  hahd-working  writers,  artists,  mu- 
sicians and  actors  and  doctors  and  lawyers  and 
the  like,  who  amuse  themselves  after  a  hahd 
day's  work  by  informal  dinnehs  in  odd  nooks, 
where  hilarity  attracts  no  attention.  They  have 
earned  the  right  to  play  gipsy,  and  they  like  to 
call  themselves  Bohemians;  but  they  are  not; 
they  are  simply  good,  honest,  hahd-working 
blacksmiths,  taking  a  little  recess,  in  ordeh 
that  they  may  renew  their  strength  for  the  anvil 
and  the  sledge  and  go  back  and  work  some  mo'. 
If  that  were  Bohemia  I  should  be  a  Bohemian. 
But  the  true  Bohemians,  the  true  gipsies,  do  no 
work  and  attain  no  success,  but  dawdle  idly  from 
failure  to  failure,  thinking  they  are  happy  be- 
cause they  run  away  from  work  or  hardship. 
Little  they  know  that  the  true  rapture  is  in  wrest- 
ling with  circumstances,  diggin'  at  the  beautiful 
in  the  ugliness  around  it,  till  the  blood  comes 
from  undeh  the  fingeh  nails.  You  must  pah- 
don  me  if  I  have  fallen  into  the  sermon  habit, 
but  I've  been  so  long  with  that  blamed  preacheh 
from  Terre  Haute." 


Ibunt  for  ffiobemia 


277 


A 

NEW 
YORKER 


"Will  you  join  us  to-night  in  a  search  for  your 
Bohemia?" 

"I'd  like  to,"  said  Simes,  "but  I've  promised 
to  show  the  preacheh  some  mo'  of  ouah  inerad- 
icable virtues,"  and  with  a  thirsty 
cough  and  an  apologetic  bow 
he  was  away  in  search  of  the 
Pierian  spring. 

Calverly  decided   that    he 
was  not  much  interested  in 
Bohemia.     lie  judged  from 
Simes'     description    that    it 
must  be  "deucedly  vulgah"  and 
"  a  ghastly  baw."     Miss  De  Peys- 
ter agreed  with  him  and  decided 
that    she    did    not    care    to    go. 
Calverly    thought    that    a    quiet 
evening  at  home  would  be  more 
enjoyable  than  anything  else,  and 
Miss  De  Peyster  agreed   with   him  again   and 
suggested  her  home. 

Miss  Collis  looked  her  disappointment, 
had  always  idealized  Bohemia.  It  was  identical 
in  her  mind  with  Paris  and  art  student  life.  It 
was  her  chief  grievance  against  New  York  that 
the  art  student  life  did  not  flourish  here  as  in 
Paris. 

De  Peyster  admitted  that  the  Anglo-Saxon 
temperament  could  never  hope  to  amuse  itself 
or  take  its  art  as  religiously  as  the  Latin  nature. 
But  there  were  compensations  in  other  direc- 


She 


278  £be  iReal  IRew 

tions,  and  New  York  has  an  extensive  colony  of 
artists,  as  well  as  a  few  schools  in  which  the 
standard  is  quite  as  high  as  in  Paris,  and  the 
students  amuse  themselves  well,  though  not  so 
elaborately  or  with  such  co-operation  as  in  Paris. 
There  is  no  Montmartre  here,  no  Quartier  Latin, 
no  "  QuatV-Arts"  -the  police  would  hardly 
allow  this  last.  And  there  is  no  Bal  Bullier, 
more's  the  pity,  though  there  are  dozens  of 
dance  halls  where  the  same  class  of  women  will 
insist  on  no  more  formalities  of  introduction. 
.  "It  would  be  foolish,"  De  Peyster  continued, 
"for  New  York  to  pretend  to  compete  with  Paris 
in  the  pursuit  of  happiness  for  its  own  sake.  To 
them  it  is  a  science  and  a  religion ;  to  us  happi- 
ness is  either  a  vice,  a  relaxation  or  something 
hidden  away  in  the  depths  of  business  and  prog- 
ress. We  can  only  console  ourselves  for  our 
many  inferiorities  by  the  many  magnificent  qual- 
ities in  which  New  York  excels  Paris  and  the 
beautiful  promise  that  all  good  Americans  shall 
go  to  Paris  when  they  die.  Alas,  most  of  us 
will  never  take  up  happiness  as  a  profession 
until  that  time." 

Miss  Collis  had  her  heart  set  on  seeing  Bo- 
hemia. She  believed  that  she  would  enjoy  it  in 
spite  of  Simes.  De  Peyster  volunteered  to  go 
a-hunting  with  her. 

"But  your  sister  does  not  care  to  go  and  I 
have  no  other  chaperon,"  she  said. 

"Good  Lord!     A  chaperon  in  Bohemia — the 


1bunt  for  Bobemia 

two  terms  are  contradictory.  Now  is  your  chance 
to  show  whether  or  not  you  have  any  of  your 
boasted  Bohemian  blood  in  your  veins.  I  be- 
lieve you  are  afraid  to  go  Bohemianizing  with 


me." 


Miss  Collis  was  not  one  who  took  a  dare.  She 
held  her  head  up  proudly  and  flashed  back  at 
him  defiantly: 

"I  dare  and  I  will!" 

And  so  it  was  agreed.  Then  arose  the  prob- 
lem where  to  go. 

"I  should  like  to  go  to  Maria's,"  said  Miss 
Collis,  "and  see  if  Mr.  Simes  has  not  maligned 
it." 

"Oh,  the  old  Maria  is  a  thing  of  the  past," 
said  De  Peyster;  "she  made  so  much  money  in 
her  dingy  little  place  that  she  moved  uptown. 
Two  clubs  grew  out  of  the  crowd  that  used 
to  gather  at  the  old  place.  The  first  was  the 
Edenia,  which  met  upstairs  around  her  rheu- 
matic piano;  out  of  this  grew  a  Revolutionary 
Committee  that  wanted  a  little  more  comfort, 
better  meals  and  a  higher  class  of  entertainment. 
So  they  called  themselves  the  Pleiades,  and  they 
meet  every  Sunday  night  at  some  large  hotel  or 
restaurant,  where  sometimes  two  hundred  of 
them  gather  together  and  enjoy  a  really  good 
dinner.  They  wear  evening  clothes,  as  a  rule, 
and  they  do  not  rent  them.  The  women  are 
well  dressed  and  their  model  of  behavior  is  not 
the  artist  model.  Every  Sunday  night  they  have 


280  £be  iReal  IRew  H?orfc 

as  guest  of  honor  some  prominent  personage, 
and  their  Christmas  and  annual  dinners  are  bril- 
liant events. 

"The  'Black  Cat'  is  another  Bohemian  re- 
sort that  has  suffered  from  prosperity.  It  be- 
gan as  an  imitation  of  the  'Chat  Noir'  in  Paris, 
and  later  the  proprietors  opened  a  much  more 
elaborate  place  in  Twenty-eighth  Street. 

"Down  in  Eighth,  Ninth  and  Tenth  Streets 
there  are  several  quaint  places  where  a  few 
cronies  still  gather.  They  try,  as  a  rule,  to  keep 
these  rookeries  a  secret,  knowing  that  as  soon  as 
a  place  is  branded  as  Bohemian  a  mob  of  philis- 
tines  rush  in  and  spoil  it.  Not  only  does  the 
crowd  lose  quality,  but  the  food  as  well,  and  the 
proprietors  are  infected  with  the  craze  for  rapid 
wealth.  There  are  dozens  of  places  in  New 
York  whose  habitues  love  them  so  jealously  that 
they  organize  themselves  into  little  lodges. 

"One  of  these  is  much  haunted  by  sculptors. 
The  proprietor  was  formerly  a  chef  to  the  Italian 
King.  On  the  walls  are  photographs  of  him  in 
an  officer's  uniform — over  the  brim  of  his  hat 
spills  the  tail  of  one  of  those  roosters  which  he 
can  cook  so  extremely  well  that  you  think  you  are 
eating  a  bashful  pullet.  When  you  arrive  you 
are  permitted  to  go  into  the  kitchen  and  drink 
the  health  of  the  patron  in  a  petit  verre  of  his  own 
mixture.  You  can  stand  by  and  watch  your 
dinner  cook  in  spotlessly  clean  surroundings, 
and  if  you  are  complimentary  enough  you  will 


1bunt  for  Bobemia 


281 


later  be  invited  to  have  brandy  to  burn  in  your 
coffee.  After  you  have  been  there  a  few  times 
the  signora  is  very  apt  to  embrace  you  when  you 
come  in  and  pat  you  on  the  shoulder  when  you 
compliment  her  on  the  spaghetti.  I  would  take 
you  there  but  for  the  terrific  promise  I  gave  as 
my  initiation  fee.  For  the  sculptor  who  took  me 
there  said  in  an  awestruck  tone:  'Come  any 
time  you  like,  bring  any  girl  you  like,  but  for 
God's  sake  don't  bring  any  ladies!'  Some  of 
the  best  known  artist  models  are  there,  and  they 
talk  art  as  earnestly  as  they  try  to  inspire  it. 

"Down  on  Seventh  Avenue  near  Twenty-sixth 
Street  is  Guffanti's.  You  can  tell  that  this  is  an 
artistic  place  because  there 
are  stains  on  the  tablecloth 
and  because  the  women  and 
men  begin  to  hold  hands 
about  the  time  they  reach 
their  second  glass  of  Bar- 
bera.  The  waiters  are  in 
shirt  sleeves,  you  lay  your 
hats  and  coats  on  the  billiard 
table,  the  proprietor  ad- 
dresses you  as  almost  his 
equal,  and  the  spaghetti  on 
spaghetti  night  is  a  feast  in 


SPAGHETTI 


itself. 

"  One  of  the  liveliest  places  in  town  is  the  Cafe 
Francis  in  Thirty-fifth  Street.  There  are  three 
orchestras  here,  and  you  sit  along  wall  seats  be- 


282 

hind  marble-topped  tables  as  in  Paris.  It  is  a 
place  much  affected  by  painters,  sculptors, 
actors,  as  well  as  newspaper  men  from  the  nearby 
Herald.  You  will  see  some  very  pretty  women 
and  some  very  jovial  parties  here.  The  music 
is  really  worth  while,  the  long-haired  French  trio 
being  especially  good. 

"The  most  showy  places  are  down  on  the 
East  Side,  and,  if  you  have  pluck,  you  will  go 
there." 

She  had  the  pluck,  and  felt  proud  of  it,  till  he 
called  for  her  shortly  after  six,  and  in  evening 
dress. 

"Bohemia  in  those  things  ?"  she  asked. 

;<Yes,"  he  replied,  "and,  what's  more,  in  an 
automobile.  Society  people  crowd  into  Bo- 
hemia and  look  at  each  other.  If  there  is  any 
room  left  in  an  odd  corner — or  rather  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  room — the  true  Bohemians  slip  in. 
But  they  have  about  as  large  a  place  in  Bohemia 
as  the  American  Indians  have  in  America.  We 
foreign  invaders  call  ourselves  Americans,  and  it 
is  very  consistent  that  we  should  call  ourselves 
Bohemians  when  we  annex  this  new  territory." 

"But  I  have  put  on  my  plainest  things,"  she 
objected;  "you'll  have  to  wait  until  I  change." 

"No  one  will  notice  the  difference,  and  you 
may  get  credit  for  being  a  real  Bohemian.  You 
cannot  look  more  beautiful  in  ermine — M- Myr- 
tle." The  name  still  came  rather  hard. 

"All  right,  G-Gerald;  I  am  a  true  sport." 


1bunt  for  Bobcmia 

When  they  were  scudding  down  Broadway  in 
the  dusk  of  the  automobile  he  tried  to  hold  her 
hand — "just  for  good  fellowship,"  he  explained. 
But  she  would  none  of  it,  even  when  he  insisted 
that  all  true  Bohemians  must  know  the  "grip." 

They  went  first  to  the  Cafe  Boulevard,  on 
Second  Avenue  and  Tenth  Street.  It  was  too 
cool  for  the  guests  to  dine  on  the  balconies,  which 
they  fill  in  summertime,  but  the  place  was 
alight  and  the  strains  of  Hungarian  music  came 
splashing  through  the  windows.  Myrtle's  heart 
lit  up  like  the  windows  of  the  cafe,  and  she  felt 
that  she  was  in  a  foreign  land  as  they  strolled 
through  the  rooms  decorated  in  the  Art  Nouveau 
and  through  the  grotto.  They  wandered  here 
and  there  through  the  many  rooms,  all  of  them 
full  and  voltaic  with  high  spirits.  The  pro- 
prietor, who  had  seen  his  little  out-of-the-way 
cabaret  grow  to  an  establishment  accommodating 
850  visitors,  greeted  De  Peyster  with  cordiality. 
He  offered  him  a  table  pleasantly  located  on  a 
mezzanine  floor,  overlooking  the  main  dining- 
room,  but  De  Peyster  stopped  short.  He  saw 
that  his  next-table  neighbors  would  be  A.  J. 
Joyce,  "Ananias"  Blake  and  two  young  women 
whose  manner  already  showed  the  influence  of 
the  Hungarian  cocktail,  made  of  plum  brandy 
and  called  Slivovitz.  They  were  also  making 
rapid  inroads  on  a  bottle  which  De  Peyster 
recognized  as  Szegszardi  Voros,  from  the  Royal 
Hungarian  Government  cellars  at  Buda-Pesth, 


284  £be  iRcal  IRcw  H)orfc 

which  is  well  worth  the  price,  since  it  costs  but 
one  dollar,  title  and  all. 

Joyce  came  forward,  and  very  effusively  ex- 
claimed : 

"Won't  you  join  us,  you  and  your — cousin?" 

De  Peyster  could  have  throttled  him  for  that 
last  word,  but  he  remembered  his  breeding, 
and  with  a  sweet  smile  answered: 

'Thank  you,  my  cousin  and  I  just  dropped 
in  to  look  around;  we  have  an  engagement  else- 
where." 

Myrtle  started  to  protest,  but  he  gave  her  a 
silencing  look,  and  by  pure  will  power  silently 
dragged  her  from  the  room. 

Once  outside,  she  gave  voice  to  her  disap- 
pointment, but  he  promised  her  something  still 
more  foreign,  and  ordered  the  chauffeur  to  take 
them  to  the  Cafe  Liberty,  in  East  Houston  Street. 

As  they  drove  down  Second  Avenue  they 
seemed  to  be  in  a  foreign  country,  reading  such 
signs  as  "Karatsonyi  &  Kmetz,"  and  a  little 
shop  marked  "  Lesezirkel,  Ungarischer  Importir- 
ter  Tabak,"  where,  when  her  parents  are  away, 
the  beautiful  little  Hungarienne,  Erna  Roswaag, 
aged  eleven,  and  her  little  seven-year-old  brother, 
will  sell  you  the  latest  number  of  the  Pesti  Hir- 
lap  in  the  most  charming  manner.  A  little  further 
down  is  the  Swiss  Benevolent  Society's  Home, 
and  on  East  Fourth  Street  is  the  hall  where,  on 
every  Sunday  night,  the  Roumanians  gather  for 
a  dance. 


1bunt  for  Bobemia 


285 


The  automobile  soon  turned  into  the  twist- 
ing streets  of  the  Jewish  quarter  of  the  East 
Side,  where  the  signs  were  in  Hebrew  and  an- 
nounced that  the  food  was  "kosher"  —that  is 
to  say,  that  it  was  clean — cooked  in  conformity 
with  the  laws  of  the  Jewish  faith.  One  dingy 
hole  in  the  wall  bore  the  ambitious  and  am- 
biguous sign,  "Cafe  de  1'Europe,  Inlandische 
und  Auslandische  Zeitungen."  Across  the 


WHEN    TWO    HUNGARIANS    PLAY    CARDS 


street  was  the  Cafe  Liberty,  familiarly  known 
as  "Little  Hungary."  Here,  too,  as  in  all 
Bohemian  resorts  in  New  York,  the  crowd  has 
grown  from  a  couple  to  500. 

A  few  years  ago  the  owner  of  a  modest  cafe 
gave  a  dinner  in  his  wine-cellar  on  Friday  night — 
that  being  the  eve  of  the  Jewish  Sabbath.     The 
sharp-nosed  sleuths  who  are  eternally  ransack- 


286  Gbe  IReal  IHew  H?or& 

ing  New  York  for  something  odd  found  out 
this  cafe,  and  now  crowded  dinners  are  given 
every  night  in  greatly  enlarged  space,  that  threat- 
ens to  absorb  the  entire  building,  where  at 
present  six  or  eight  large  rooms  accommodate 
the  meetings  of  the  secret  societies  of  the  East 
Side,  and  where  the  ballroom  is  the  scene  of 
Hungarian  dances  and  weddings.  Friday  night 
is  still  the  great  night  of  this  cafe,  and  it  is 
usually  necessary  to  engage  the  tables  ahead. 
De  Peyster  led  the  way  down  into  the  cellar 
and  through  two  dining-rooms,  with  long  tables 
and  walls  decorated  with  love  scenes  and  Hun- 
garian legends,  into  the  more  quaint  room  of  the 
great  casks. 

They  chose  a  table  next  to  one  of  the  black 
old  tuns.  A  page  in  gold  and  blue  uniform  with- 
out command  brought  them  a  tiny  glass  of  Sliv- 
ovitz.  The  table  d'hote  dinner  followed,  course 
by  course.  Csiga  leves — a  soup  containing 
noodles  shaped  like  snails — preceded  American 
fish*  with  a  Hungarian  sauce.  Among  other  of 
the  many  courses  were  the  Hungarian  national 
dish,  the  gulyas  (goulash)  and  paprikas  csirke, 
or  chicken  hot  with  paprika;  a  salad  led  to  almas 
retes  (applestrudel),  a  delicious  light  pastry  filled 
with  sliced  apples,  almonds  and  raisins;  the 
cheese  was  Liptauer,  and  the  demi-tasse  was 
crowned  with  a  puff  of  whipped  cream. 

With  each  course  was  served  some  Hungarian 
wine.  With  the  soup  came  on  a  dark  liquor 


1bunt  for  Bohemia          287 

drawn  direct  from  one  of  the  casks  through  a 
rubber  tube.  Hungarian  wines  were  too  sweet 
to  satisfy  the  dry  taste  of  De  Peyster,  but  they 
delight  a  woman's  palate,  especially  when  she 
does  not  realize  that  the  morning-after  head  is 
due  to  sugar  more  than  to  alcohol. 

Myrtle  noted  that  as  fast  as  she  emptied  her 
glass  the  waiter  filled  it  again.  It  is  a  pleasant 
but  a  dangerous  custom  at  this  place  to  put  no 
limit  on  the  quantity,  the  price  for  dinner  includ- 
ing the  individual  capacity. 

Some  of  the  wines  were  poured  from  flagons 
by  the  incessant  wine-boy,  but  soon  the  pictur- 
esque implement  called  the  "glass-heber"  was 
set  on  the  table.  This  is  a  bottle  with  a  giraffe 
neck,  inverted  in  a  tall  rack.  It  has  a  little  auto- 
matic glass  stopper  and  one  has  only  to  press 
his  glass  against  it  to  have  it  refilled. 

Myrtle  took  great  pleasure  in  reading  the  wine 
list,  with  its  curious  and  unearthly  names,  such 
as  Szamarodni,  Szanto,  Szegszardi,  Tokayi  Asszu, 
Slivovitz  and  Borovicska.  The  simplest  rilime, 
Erlauer,  masked  the  deadliest  wine,  a  thick  red 
fluid  which  the  Hungarians  call  bull's  blood; 
it  leaves  its  stain  upon  the  glass  and  is  heavier 
than  a  thrice  concentrated  port. 

The  general  good  fellowship  aroun.d  the 
crowded  tables,  the  unfettered  laughter  and  the 
careless  jokes  joined  with  the  serial  wines  to 
hypnotize  the  girl  from  San  Francisco.  But, 
most  of  all,  the  Hungarian  music  intoxicated  her. 


288  £be  iReal  IRew  H?orfc 


The  leader,  with  his  frankly  admiring  and  tena- 
cious stare  as  he  drew  honey  from  his  fiddle; 
the  other  musicians,  in  their  picturesque  cos- 
tumes, and  the  wild  arpeggios  and  tremolos  of 
the  man  hammering  the  Hungarian  piano,  the 
"czimbalom"  —  all  united  in  wild  and  irresistible 
strains  of  barbaric  candor  and  thrilling  rhythm. 
Myrtle's  heart  filled  with  an  amorous  longing 
when  they  broke  into  the  csardas. 

De  Peyster,  too,  felt  his  Fifth  Avenue  com- 
posure giving  way  to  the  Magyar  passion,  and 
he  found  himself  telling  Myrtle  how  beautiful 
she  was,  and  how  dear,  in  a  language  that  re- 
gretted its  everyday  English  and  longed  for  a 
command  of  some  Hunnish  spice.  After  dinner 
was  lingeringly  finished  they  adjourned  upstairs. 
Here  was  a  troupe  of  troubadors  playing  and 
singing  like  mad.  The  crowd  listened  with  eager 
zest,  hissing  down  those  who  made  love  immod- 
erately or  joining  in  any  tune  that  grew  familiar. 
The  women  were  given  fanciful  souvenirs  and 
many  of  them  puffed  frankly  at  cigarettes. 

It  was  midnight  before  the  merrymakers  be- 

gan to  dwindle  homeward.     Gerald  and  Myrtle 

—the  names  came  glibly  now  —  were  among  the 

last  to  leave,  and  as  they  re-entered  their  auto- 

mobile in  the  cool  dark  air  she  murmured: 

"The  only  true  Bohemians  are  the  Hungari- 


ans." 


And  now  she  let  him  hold  her  hand — just  to 
show  that  she  was  really  a  Bohemian. 


A  GALA  NIGHT  AT  THE  CAFE"   BOULEVARD 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SUMMER   IN   NEW   YORK THE   SUMMER   EXODUS FATHER 

KNICKERBOCKER      A      GRASS-WIDOWER      IN      SUMMER 

SCHEMES  FOR  FIGHTING  THE   HEAT SUMMER  COSTUME 

—ROOF -GARDEN     DINING THE     SUFFERING     SLUMS 

MAY    DAY    AND    MAY    QUEENS ATHLETICS    IN    TOWN 

— THE      COACHES THE      RACETRACKS THE     COOL    EN- 
VIRONS OF  NEW  YORK 

THE  next  morning  Calverly  ran  up  to  take 
breakfast  with  the  De  Peysters.  They 
called  it  breakfast,  though  it  came  at  the  lunch 
hour.  People  who  have  been  abroad  are  fond 
of  such  twists.  Calverly  seemed  uneasy  and 
kept  dropping  his  monocle  into  his  plate,  then 
scouring  it  with  much  assiduity.  At  length  he 
said,  apropos  of  nothing  in  particular: 

"Do  you  know,  Gerald,  old  boy,  there's  some- 
thing I  rather  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  ?" 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Don't  you  like  this  scarf 
I'm  wearing?" 

"Oh,  that's  not  it!  Truth  is,  old  fellow,  I'm 
engaged  to  be  married." 

"Great  Csesar!  How  did  you  ever  get  cour- 
age to  propose  ?" 

"Oh,  I — I  was — assisted,  you  might  say." 

"Well,  fancy  anyone  accepting  such  a  duffer 

as  you!     Lord,  you'll  make  a  wonderful  hus- 
19  ' 


290  £be  iReal  1Rew  |t)orfc 

band !  Who's  the  unfortunate  woman  ?  Do  I 
know  her?  She  must  have  been  desperate." 

"Be  careful,  Gerald,"  said  Miss  De  Peyster; 
"you're  forgetting  yourself." 

"But  it  seems  so  ridiculous  to  think  of  him 
engaged.  He's  a  nice  enough  man's  man,  but 
he'd  bore  a  woman  to  death.  Well,  tell  me, 
what  is  her  name?  I'll  telegraph  her  my  con- 
dolences. Come,  come,  who  is  she  ?" 

"It's  your — sister." 

"Um!  um — hum!  ahem!  I — I  congratulate 
you  both.  I'm  sure  you'll  be  terribly  happy. 
You're — oh,  ah — um — so  congenial.  But  when 
did  all  this  happen  ?" 

"Last  night,  when  you  and  Miss  Collis  were 
out  in  Bohemia.  We — I — well — before  I  knew 
it,  old  chap,  I  was  engaged,  wasn't  I — Miss  De 
— Consuelo,  dear  g-girl  ?" 

'Yes,"  said  Consuelo,  furious  at  the  gaucherie 
of  the  whole  affair. 

"Well,"  said  De  Peyster,  anxious  to  retrieve 
himself,  "there's  one  thing  about  it;  my  sister 
must  be  genuinely  in  love  with  you,  for  she  swore 
she'd  marry  nothing  but  a  title." 

This  happy  suggestion  seemed  only  to  make 
matters  worse.  At  length  Calverly  said: 

''Well,  I  am  to  be  a  peer,  it  seems.  I  had  a 
letter  that  my  elder  brother  cannot  live  more 
than  a  few  months.  I've  got  to  go  back  at  once. 
Terribly  doleful,  isn't  it  ?  I  told  your  sister  last 
night,  and  she  was  most  sympathetic,  and  be- 


Summer  in  1He\\>  lj)orft  201 

fore  I  knew  it  I  had  told  her  how  much  I — I— 
how  I  have  grown  so — deucedly  fond  of  her, 
don't  you  know  ?     And  besides,  when  I  have  the 
title,  I'll  need  a  lot  more  money,  you  know— 
er — that  is — of  course,  that  sounds  rather  raw- 
but — what  a  deucedly  warm  day  it  is  all  of  a 
sudden,  isn't  it?     Seems  like  summer,  doesn't 
it?"     Then,  with  a  desperate  effort  to  change 
the  subject,  he  exclaimed : 

"By  the  way,  old  chap,  what  do  you  people 
do  in  New  York  when  summer  comes  ?" 

"We  get  out,"  Miss  De  Peyster  broke  in,  still 
angry.  "New  York  is  simply  deserted  in  sum- 
mer. There  is  not  a  soul  in  town." 

Her  brother  smiled. 

"Not  a  soul,  eh?  Perhaps  you're  right.  All 
the  souls  are  flying  to  the  seaside  and  the 
mountains,  but  there  are  bodies  enough  broiling 
on  the  gridiron  of  the  streets." 

It  seemed  so  good  to  be  talking  of  something 
besides  engagements  that  he  ran  on: 

"Winters  are  comparatively  mild  and  zero  is 
very  rare — the  thermometer  sometimes  skips  it 
for  years  at  a  time.  But  there  are  a  few  weeks 
in  summer  when  New  York  is  like  a  preparatory 
school  for  Hades.  The  only  things  that  can  be 
said  in  its  favor  are  that,  in  the  first  place,  it  is 
easy  to  go  away  to  some  of  the  innumerable 
beaches  and  watering  resorts;  and,  in  the  second 
place,  it  is  not  half  so  bad  as  we  think  it  is. 

"People  from  smaller  cities  West  or  South 


292  £be  IReal  IRew  lj)orfc 

think  New  York  is  a  summer  resort,  and,  save 
for  the  occasional  spasms  of  ferocious  heat  and 
the  humidity  that  fairly  stings,  the  old  town  is 
a  comfy  place  to  summer  in.  The  nights  are 
almost  always  cool,  and  the  science  of  fighting 
the  heat  has  certainly  been  carried  to  a  higher 
point  in  New  York  than  anywhere  else,  at  least 
among  working  cities,  for  New  York  is  not  like 
the  other  tropical  places  where  one  takes  a  siesta 
in  the  middle  of  the  day. 

"The  first  day  of  June  there  is  a  general  ex- 
odus of  people  who  can  afford  to  go,  and  there 
are  miles  and  miles  of  residence  streets  where 
nearly  every  house  has  its  doors  and  windows 
boarde'd  up,  with  no  one  at  home  but  a  poor 
cat  that  has  been  forgotten  and  left  to  starve. 
But  all  Americans  work,  and  many  of  the  rich- 
est men  take  no  more  than  a  two  weeks'  vaca- 
tion— as  much  as  they  allot  to  their  poorest 
clerks.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  them  live 
nearby  in  cottages  or  hotels  and  go  out  every 
evening,  or  take  at  least  what  you  English  call 
a  Friday-to-Monday. 

"To  a  large  extent,  New  York  in  the  summer 
time  is  a  big  bachelor  apartment  house.  The 
women  who  stay  in  town  are  either  very  poor 
or  have  business  reasons  for  staying.  The  busi- 
ness of  some  of  them  is  the  entertainment  of 
grass-widowers.  The  loneliness  of  deserted  hus- 
bands, who  work  hard  all  day  and  find  all  the 
respectable  homes  shut  up  in  the  evening,  has 


Summer  in  IRew  H>orfc  293 

its  enormous  effect  on  the  domestic  problem. 
The  divorce  courts  would  not  be  nearly  so  over- 
crowded if  American  women  would  bring  them- 
selves to  endure  the  same  hardships  that  their 
husbands  go  through  during  the  worst  part  of 
the  year. 

"To  the  New  Yorker 
who  knows  his  town  in  the 
height  of  the  season  from 
autumn  to  late  spring  it 
truly  seems  that  there  is 
nobody  here  in  summer. 
To  the  stranger  from  the 
smaller  cities  it  is  still 
packed  and  jammed  with 
millions  of  hurrying  and 
sweltering  citizens.  And 
while  Father  Knickerbock- 

A    ROOF-GARDEN    "  STUNT ' 

er  s  wile  may  have  de- 
serted him  and  may  be  spending  her  days  in  a 
bathing  suit  and  her  nights  on  a  moonlit  piazza 
overlooking  the  ocean,  there  is  usually  a  faith- 
ful stenographer  who  dresses  quite  as  well,  whom 
the  stranger  in  town  thinks  to  be  Mrs.  Knicker- 
bocker when  they  are  seen  together  dining  on 
some  roof  and  sitting  out  some  roof-garden  en- 
tertainment. But  the  facts  all  come  out  in  the 
wash — and  the  divorce  court  is  the  great 
laundry." 

Calverly  opened  his  mouth  and  dropped  his 
monocle  to  say : 


294 

"But  you  spoke  of  New  Yorkers  having  car- 
ried the  science  of  fighting  the  heat  further 
than  anybody  else.  Of  course,  that  is  only 
cheerful  Yankee  brag,  I  know,  but  what  have 
you  done  to  surpass  dear  old  London?  We 
Englishmen  have  our  blessed  Thames,  with  its 
miles  of  cottages,  with  lawns  going  right  to  the 
river  edge,  and  its  punts,  and  swans,  and  the 
cozy  little  inns,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  You 
haven't  anything  to  equal  that,  you  know  you 
haven't ;  now  have  you  ? ' ' 

"If  the  Thames  were  not  nailed  down,"  said 
De  Peyster,  "we'd  either  buy  it  or  steal  it.  It 
is  too  good  for  you  English  people.  London 
has  no  right  to  such  a  pretty  toy,  for  London 
does  not  know  what  summer  is.  Your  winters 
are  infinitely  worse  than  our  summers,  and  I'd 
rather  have  a  thousand  of  our  hot  days  than 
a  hundred  of  your  pea-soup  fogs." 

"But  I  was  asking  about  the  science  of  keep- 
ing cool,"  persisted  Calverly.  "What  have  you 
done  about  that  ?  " 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  there  is  ice.  Till  a 
few  years  ago  it  was  almost  an  unknown  thing 
in  London.  Now  it  is  treated  as  a  sort  of 
splendid  luxury,  a  quaint  little  American  affec- 
tation. There  is  probably  more  of  it  given  away 
by  New  York  charities,  like  the  Herald  Free 
Ice  Fund  and  others,  than  all  London  con- 
sumes in  a  summer.  Then  there  is  the  iced 
drink,  particularly  the  divine  mint  julep,  where 


Summer  in  IRew  lj)orfc  295 

you  bathe  your  fevered  brow  in  ice  cold  leaves 
while  you  sip  nectar. 

"There  are  thousands  of  other  ingenious  de- 
vices for  distracting  the  mind  from  too  much 
brooding  on  the  rise  of  the  thermometer.  There 
is,  for  instance,  the  cooling  gin  rickey,  and  there 
is  a  curious  fact  about  it.  Its  distinguishing 
feature  is  the  juice  of  the  lime,  and  the  sale 
varies  so  much  according  to  the  heat  that  the 
lime  has  become  the  greatest  gamble  in  the 
produce  market.  It  is  vitally  important  that 
the  limes  should  be  fresh;  so,  if  a  ship  comes  up 
from  the  Tropics  and  unloads  its  cargo  on  a 
boilingly  hot  day,  the  limes  may  sell  for  as  high 
as  $49  a  barrel.  If,  however,  the  ship  arrives 
here  in  cool  weather  the  cargo  may  sell  as  low 
as  49  cents  a  barrel.  There  are  thousands  of 
old  clubmen  who  watch  for  the  first  consign- 
ment of  limes  as  eagerly  as  the  farmer  looks  for 
the  first  robin  redbreast. 

"Then  we  have  learned  how  to  dress  in  sum- 
mer. It  is  still  an  article  of  religion  in  London 
that  a  high  hat  and  a  frock  coat  must  be  worn 
even  on  the  most  stifling  days.  Over  here 
both  office  boy  and  millionaire  dress  as  coolly 
as  decency  permits,  and  the  women  one  degree 
cooler. 

"We  have  hundreds  of  electric  fans  where 
London  has  one.  We  have  our  roof-garden 
dining-rooms  and  our  music-halls  on  the  roof; 
and  there  are  one  or  two  steamers  that  give 


296  ftbe  iReal  IRew  H>orfc 

vaudeville  every  evening  as  they  plow  the  cool 
waters  down  the  Bay." 

"But  what  about  the  suffering  in  the  slums  ?" 
asked  Calverly. 

"Well,  it  is  frightful,"  said  De  Peyster,  "and 
there  is  no  denying  it.  At  night  thousands  and 
thousands  flock  to  the  roofs  and  sprawl  on  the 
tin  that  has  baked  all  day,  or  they  clutter  the 
fire-escapes  or  huddle  on  the  stoops  and  the 
curbs.  On  the  worst  nights  they  are  now  per- 
mitted to  sleep  in  some  of  the  parks.  Unless 
the  night  is  cool  the  pitiful  wretches  can  only 
suffer  till  the  angry  daybreak  brings  a  greater 
suffering.  Their  lot  is  that  of  the  wretches  of 
the  Bible  who  said  at  night,  'Would  God  that 
it  were  morn!'  and  in  the  morning,  'Would  God 
that  it  were  night!'  It  is  terrible,  terrible,  ter- 
rible, especially  for  the  children.  There  is 
nothing  to  say  in  palliation  except  that  it  might 
be  worse,  and  that  their  misery  has  plenty  of 
company  around  the  globe.  When  summer  is 
summer  everybody  must  bake.  The  rich  at 
the  seaside  and  in  the  mountains  cannot  escape 
from  the  sun;  the  people  in  the  small  cities  and 
villages  feel  the  lash;  the  farmers  fry  in  the 
fields  and  their  women  go  mad  in  the 
kitchens. 

"We  do  the  best  we  can  to  make  it  better  here 
in  New  York.  If  you  look  on  the  map  you  will 
see  that  we  are  as  close  to  the  Equator  as  Spain. 
We  are  in  just  about  the  same  degree  of  latitude 


Summer  in  IRew  ll)orfc  297 

as  Madrid  and  Naples,  while  London  is  nearly 
opposite  Labrador. 

"  Charity  is  tireless  here  in  New  York.  Every 
day  in  summer  thousands  of  children  are  taken 
to  the  country  or  on  picnics  down  the  Bay. 
The  Fire  Department  flushes  the  tenement 
streets  with  streams  of  cold  water,  wetting  down 
the  panting  horses  and  the  hundreds  of  children 
who  enjoy  the  shower-bath.  Most  of  the 
horses,  as  in  London,  wear  bonnets  of  straw  all 
summer  with  most  coquettish  effect.  Free  con- 
certs are  given  on  all  the  recreation  piers,  and 
the  policeman  usually  looks  the  other  way  when 
the  newsboys  in  their  costume  of  two  garments 
take  a  dip  head  foremost  into  the  fountains. 
And  there  are  many  public  baths  in  both  the 
Hudson  and  the  East  River  where  men  and 
women  can  swim.  Besides  it  does  not  cost 
much  time  or  money  to  reach  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure circus  in  the  world,  Coney  Island." 

De  Peyster  was  on  one  of  his  pet  hobbies 
now,  and  he  went  on  with  enthusiasm  to  point 
out  that  for  those  who  cannot  get  out  of  town 
there  are  the  parks.  The  first  of  May  finds 
the  streets  leading  to  Central  Park  filled  with 
processions  of  little  boys  and  girls  going  out  for 
a  Maypole  dance  on  the  greens.  This  is  one 
of  the  few  towns  in  this  country  where  the  good 
old  English  custom  of  the  Queen  of  the  May  is 
preserved,  and  it  is  one  of  the  prettiest  touches 
of  the  spring  to  see  the  little  gamines,  in  their 


298  £be  IReal  IRew  l?orft 

cheap  white  dresses,  marching  solemnly  in  line, 
with  the  crown  of  flowers  on  the  proud  head  of 
their  queen.  On  May  Day  at  least  4,000  chil- 
dren invade  the  Park,  dressed  in  their  merriest. 
On  the  21st  of  May,  1904,  a  number  of  Tam- 
many picnics  were  given;  to  the  children  240 
permits  were  issued  for  parties,  and  there  were 
over  35,000  children  in  the  Park,  well  fed  and 
gaily  entertained  that  day.  Then  there  are  the 
lakes,  where  the  children  sail  their  yachts,  and 
where  retired  old  mariners  in  their  second 
childhood  practise  the  nautical  sciences  in 
miniature,  as  they  do  at  the  Round  Pond  in 
Kensington  Gardens.  One  of  them  put  up  a 
cup  last  summer,  and  there  is  a  little  boat- 
house  where  the  old  and  young  children  store 
their  navies.  There  are  guards  and  a  life- 
saving  crew  whose  business  it  is  to  wade  in 
up  to  their  knees,  pull  out  the  children,  who  fall 
in  by  the  dozen,  and  then  empty  them  out. 
Instead  of  having  barrels  to  roll  them  on  they 
have  kegs  and  tin  buckets  to  fit  their  little  cast- 
aways. 

Everybody  in  New  York  goes  in  for  athletics 
of  some  kind.  You  must  be  very  careful  how 
you  speak  to  the  most  spindle-shanked  fop  or 
the  most  hollow-chested  bookkeeper,  for  ten 
to  one  he  takes  his  exercise  in  the  morning  be- 
fore the  open  window  and  his  muscles  are  like 
wire  rope. 

It  is    a  very   athletic    town,   is    New    York. 


Summer  in  1Rew  lj)orfc 

On  the  coldest  evenings  of 
early  spring  you  will  see 
teams  of  boys  and  young 
men  out  for  a  'cross- 
country, or  rather  'cross- 
city,  run.  It  is  very  start- 
ling to  see  a  covey  of  these 
striplings  go  by — striplings 
is  the  word,  for  a  short-sleeved  undershirt  and 
a  pair  of  short  rowing  breeches  are  all  they 
wear,  except  for  shoes  and  short  socks.  It  is 
quite  Grecian  to  see  these  bare-armed,  bare- 
chested,  bare-legged  athletes  go  darting  across 
street-car  tracks  and  through  the  crowds  dressed 
for  dinner  or  theatre. 

With  the  spring  the  hunt  clubs  in  West- 
chester  County  and  on  Long  Island  and  nearby 
New  Jersey  go  out  and  fill  the  country  with 
packs  of  beagles  and  foxhounds  and  thorough- 
breds ridden  by  thoroughbreds  in  red  coats  and 
hunting  caps. 

Those  who  can  afford  polo  risk  their  lives  and 
limbs  in  the  polo  grounds  nearby;  in  the  winter 
they  play  at  such  places  as  the  armory  of 
Squadron  A.  In  the  spring  all  the  boathouses 
on  the  Harlem  River  pour  forth 
their  half-naked  athletes  row- 
ing their  toothpick  shells.  And 
a  hundred  yacht  clubs  put  out 
every  form  of  craft,  from  the 
smallest  cat  to  the  ocean-going 


300  £be  IReal 

steam  yacht,  not  to  mention  the  naphtha 
launches,  the  automobile  launches  and  the 
world-beating  sloops  which  have  kept  the 
America's  Cup  here  ever  since  it  was  captured 
by  the  old  America.  The  contests  for  that 
cup  have  been  among  the  most  brilliant  of 
national  outdoor  events,  and  the  whole  city 
crowds  into  big  excursion  boats  and  adjourns 
to  Sandy  Hook  on  the  days  of  these  races. 

We  have  borrowed  cricket,  lacrosse,  tennis  and 
squash  from  England,  and  these  games  are  much 
played  here,  though  we  have  not  yet  been  able 
to  equal  the  foreign  champions  in  most  of  them. 
In  all  the  other  athletic  events,  however,  includ- 
ing boxing,  track  athletics,  weight  putting  and 
tests  of  strength,  we  hold  pretty  nearly  all  the 
world's  championships.  Then  we  have  our  own 
national  game  of  baseball,  which  is  to  cricket 
what  whisky  is  to  cambric  tea.  Even  the  Eng- 
lish crowds  at  Lord's  in  London  sit  languidly 
through  the  game  of  cricket,  with  an  occasional 
little  spatter  of  applause  and  a  gentle  murmur 
of  "  Well  bowled,  old  chap !"  Compare  this  with 
the  fiendish  excitement  of  the  mobs  that  watch 
the  great  baseball  games  and  grow  so  frenzied 
over  the  complex  and  graceful  contest  that  they 
call  for  the  umpire's  life  when  he  decides  some 
doubtful  crisis  against  the  home  team.  Besides 
the  two  professional  leagues — with  their  high- 
salaried  players  whose  names  are  household 
words  and  whose  records  are  watched  like  quo- 


Summer  in  IRew  lj>orfc  301 

tations  of  the  stock  market — there  are  the  teams 
of  all  ages  and  professions,  who  meet  wherever 
there  is  space  enough  to  spread  a  diamond.  Then 
there  are  the  fencing  clubs  for  men  and  women 
and  the  numberless  bowling  alleys,  the  number- 
less billiard-rooms,  the  gymnasiums  for  men  and 
women  and  children  all  about  town;  the  pools, 
with  swimming  contests,  and  the  thrilling  sub- 
marine battles  of  water  polo,  and  the  basket- 
ball teams  and  the  shooting  galleries. 

In  the  fall  comes  football,  and  the  whole  town 
puts  on  college  colors,  carries  college  flags  and 
lacerates  its  throat  with  college  yells.  The  foot- 
ball fields  are  black  with  crowds;  sometimes 
40,000  to  50,000  are  gathered  round  one  grid- 
iron, where  rival  giants  agonize  like  teams  of 
angry  buffalo.  Football  lasts  till  snow  flies,  and 
the  ice  rinks  open  with  their  artificial  lakes  and 
their  hockey  teams  cracking  each  other's  shins 
in  high  glee.  On  the  rare  days  when  it  turns 
cold  enough  for  ice  to  form  in  the  Park  lakes 
the  red  ball  is  put  up  to  spread  the  glad  tidings, 
"Skating  to-day,"  and  thousands  of  men  and 
women  sally  forth  steel-shod  and  glide  or  bump 
till  the  last  electric  light  is  turned  off  at  mid- 
night. 

Golf,  of  course,  rages  all  the  year  round,  like 
automobiling.  In  the  number  and  speed  of  our 
automobiles  we  are  still  second  to  Paris,  but  far 
ahead  of  London. 

But  the  prettiest  sight  of  all  is  the  coaching, 


302  £be  IRcal  IRcw 


and  there  are  various  tally-hos  that  make  daily 
trips  to  distant  points.  "The  Pioneer"  drives 
from  the  Holland  House  to  Ardsley,  twenty-five 
miles  away,  leaving  at  10.30,  lunching  at  Ards- 
ley, and  making  the  home  run  between  3.30 
and  6.  For  relays  it  has  teams  of  four.  The 
coaches  return  usually  about  twilight,  and  there 
is  a  touch  of  poetry  in  the  scene  when  the  pat- 
tering hoofs  come  in  through  the  gloaming 
and  the  tarantara  of  the  long  horn  echoes  down 
the  crowded  Avenue. 

For  many  years  the  Coaching  Club  has  had 
an  annual  spring  meet.  This  year  eighteen  drags 
were  in  line,  led  by  the  same  aristocratic  whip 
who  has  conducted  their  triumphant  chariots  for 
twenty-two  years. 

Round  and  round  the  town  also  go  the  "  See- 
ing New  York  "  automobile  coaches,  packed 
with  tourists,  who  are  shown  all  the  sights 
under  the  guidance  of  a  lecturer  with  a  mega- 
phone. Many  New  Yorkers,  too,  join  these 
parties,  and  learn  with  amazement  what  store 
of  interest  has  been  gathering  here  unbeknownst 
while  they  were  gadding  Europe. 

Then  there  are  the  races  on  various  tracks 
within  easy  reach  by  train,  such  places  as  Graves- 
end,  Brighton  Beach,  Sheepshead  Bay,  Jamaica, 
Aqueduct  and  Morris  Park.  These  events  draw 
daily  crowds  of  thousands,  especially  the  races 
with  large  purses  and  the  more  noted  horses. 
Among  the  chief  events  of  the  year  are  the  races 


Summer  in  IRew 


303 


THE    TIPSTER 


known  to  fame  as  the 
Metropolitan,  the  To- 
boggan, the  Withers,  the 
Brooklyn  Handicap,  the 
Suburban  and  the  Fu- 
turity. At  these  races 
crowds  of  40,000  or 
50,000  assemble.  They 
make  a  beautiful  array, 
packing  the  great  grand- 
stands, blackening  the 
lawns  and  crowding  the 
graceful  clubhouses,  the 
clusters  of  tally-hos  and 
the  hundred  or  more 

gaily  colored  automobiles.  But  there  is  little 
thought  of  beauty,  except  for  the  thrilling  beauty 
of  equine  perfection  at  its  utmost  endeavor. 
Messengers  hurry  to  and  fro  among  the  women 
collecting  bets,  and  the  betting  ring  is  one  mad 
swarm  of  jostling,  reaching  and  clutching 
gamesters,  fighting  to  force  their  money  on  the 
willing  layers  of  odds. 

It  is  all  over  in  a  minute  or  two.  The  confu- 
sion and  impatience  of  the  start,  the  hopes  that 
are  left  at  the  post,  the  hailstorm  of  hoofs  dying 
away  in  the  distance,  the  silent  shuffling  in  the 
pack  far  away  from  the  hysterical  crowd,  the 
sifting  out  of  the  two  or  three  who  are  to  share 
the  glory,  the  sudden  rounding  into  the  home- 
stretch, the  growth  of  the  pigmies  to  life  size, 


304  £bc  iReal 

the  frenzied  rush  for  the  wire,  the  flash  past,  the 
explosion  of  silence  into  hurricane — it  is  a  short 
drunkenness,  but  intense  and  fiery.  And  then 
the  reaction — the  effort  of  those  who  have  won 
to  repress  their  bubbling  exultation,  the  effort 
of  the  majority  to  look  like  good  losers,  the  ran- 
sacking of  pockets  for  overlooked  change  as 
a  rescue  from  a  long  walk  home,  the  resolution 
never  to  play  the  races  again,  the  reappearance 
at  the  next  event — it  is  the  indelible  insanity,  and 
existed  when  those  old  apartment-house  sports, 
the  cliff  dwellers,  bet  their  axe-heads  on  the  speed 
of  their  three-toed  horses. 

So,  taking  all  in  all,  no  one  can  complain  of 
the  dulness  of  New  York  summers  excepting 
him  who  is  spoiled  by  the  Saint  Vitus  dance  of 
the  winters.  To  the  hordes  of  invaders  from 
out  of  town  New  York  is  an  ideal  summer  re- 
sort. To  the  discontented  there  are  easy  ave- 
nues of  escape  to  the  mountains,  the  hills,  the 
river,  the  Sound,  the  sea.  In  fact,  some  of  the 
best  things  in  New  York  are  just  outside. 

The  exit  through  the  tunnels  which  are  build- 
ing or  built  means  a  short  suffocation  that  is 
very  trying  after  the  usual  dash  for  the  train. 
But  from  the  Grand  Central  Station  one  quickly 
reaches  the  hills  and  vales  and  the  pleasant  coun- 
try places  of  Westchester  County,  with  its  golf, 
its  country  clubs,  its  rural  life  de  luxe.  East- 
ward is  Long  Island,  which  is  studded  with  all 
manner  of  resorts,  from  the  plebeian  Coney 


f, 


"vjr 


AT  THE  RACES 


Summer  in  IRcw  H)orfc  305 

Island  to  Brighton  or  Rockaway,  and  with  nu- 
merous home  towns  along  the  Sound  or  the 
ocean  down  to  Montauk  Point  and  Shelter 
Island.  Manhattan  Beach  is  most  famous,  with 
its  two  big  hotels  and  their  big  prices.  There 
is  an  outdoor  theatre  here,  where  Sousa's  band 
or  some  comic  opera  troupe  can  always  be  heard. 
The  huge  piazzas  of  the  hotel  are  crowded  with 
dining  tables,  and  every  afternoon  thousands  of 
business  men  roll  down  their  desks  and  flit  to 
Manhattan  Beach  for  a  dip  in  the  surf,  a  dinner 
on  the  piazza  and  a  stroll  in  the  gardens  and 
the  soothing  concourse  of  sweet  sounds. 

To  the  west  are  the  inland  towns  of  New 
Jersey,  famous,  not  without  cause,  for  her  mos- 
quitos — the  only  serious  drawback  to  what  were 
else  a  convenient  paradise.  Englewood,  the  Or- 
anges, Lakewood,  with  her  pines;  Lake  Hopat- 
cong,  more  beautiful  than  its  name;  Summit, 
Nutley,  Bound  Brook,  Montclair,  the  Hacken- 
sack  Valley,  Morristown  and  many  another  com- 
fortable resting  place  are  here.  Then  there  is 
Staten  Island  to  the  south,  and  further  south, 
stretching  away  toward  Florida,  lies  the  long, 
long  beach  of  the  Jersey  coast,  to  be  reached  by 
railroad,  or,  far  better,  by  an  hour's  cruise  down 
the  majestic  Bay  on  racehorse  steamers. 

First  is  Sandy  Hook,  with  its  military  estab- 
lishment and  its  proving  ground  for  great  guns. 
The  Government,  however,  and  its  soldiers  mo- 
nopolize this  long  reef;  but  nearby  are  the 
20 


306  £be  IReal 

Atlantic  and  Navesink  Highlands  and  the  hills 
bordering  on  the  Shrewsbury  River,  where  many 
of  moderate  income  pitch  their  tents.  Then  be- 
gins the  long  chain  of  golden  beads — cities  that 
lie  dormant  in  winter,  but  in  summer  are  hum- 
ming with  life.  Every  train  is  met  by  scores  of 
young  men  and  maids  bareheaded  and  brown. 
Each  town  has  its  own  tribe  and  individuality; 
its  cottagers  scorn  the  hotel  mobs  and  the  hotel 
mobs  scorn  the  cottagers.  The  train  runs  league 
after  league  through  one  long  lawn,  one  almost 
unbroken  series  of  cottages,  many  of  them  pala- 
tial in  structure  and  environment.  Elberon, 
Seabright,  West  End,  and  then  Long  Branch 
with  its  array  of  Hebrew  wealth.  At  Asbury 
Park  and  Ocean  Grove  are  multitudes  of  Metho- 
dist, Baptist  and  other  ardent  religionists  gath- 
ering for  ostentatious  prayer  and  praise,  yet  not 
forgetting  the  delights  of  mixed  bathing  or  the 
ancient  rites  of  the  moonlit  beach;  and  so  on 
down  the  coast,  to  the  more  exclusive  Deal  and 
Allenhurst,  and  yet  further,  even,  on  to  far  but 
well-named  Point  Pleasant. 

All  things  considered,  there  is  certainly  no 
other  capital  in  the  world  with  such  a  variety  or 
splendor  of  refuges  from  city  turmoil,  within 
such  easy  reach. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


AT  CONEY  BY  THE  SEA THE   MOST  ELABORATE  PLEASURE 

RESORT    IN    THE     WORLD THE    OLD     CONEY ITS    TWO 

GOOD  POINTS THE  NEW    CONEY LUNA    PARK    AND  ITS 

WONDERS THE    DURBAR — DREAMLAND    AND    ITS    BALL- 
ROOM   OVER    THE    OCEAN THE    DESTRUCTION    OF    NEW 

YORK 


r  I  "HERE  is  not  now  and  never  has  been  in 
J.  the  world  or  its  history  a  pleasure  resort 
approaching  Coney  Island  in  the  elaborateness 
or  ingenuity  of  its  devices  to  wheedle  away 
dimes  and  despondency. 

The  name  of  Coney  Island  had  been  for  years 
a  byword  of  plebeiance  at  its  worst.  Side- 
shows in  wooden  shacks,  peanuts  and  popcorn, 
rag-throated  barkers,  hot  babies  spilling  out 
of  tired  arms,  petty  swindles,  puerile  diversions, 
a  wooden  elephant,  a  Ferris  Wheel,  an  observa- 
tion tower,  hot  sands,  squalling  children,  bathers 
indecently  fat  or  inhumanly  lean  shrieking  in  a 
crowded  and  dirty  ocean,  sweaty  citizens,  pick- 
pockets picking  empty  pockets,  lung-testers,  noi- 
some bicyclists,  merry-go-rounds,  weight-pound- 
ing machines,  punching  machines,  "one-baby- 
down-one-cigar!"  —ring  throwing  at  ugly  canes, 
ball  throwing  at  coons,  "guess-your- weight!" — 


308  £be  IReal  1Rcw 


tintype  tents,  dusty  clam  chowder  served  by 
toughs  in  maculate  aprons,  reliques  of  old  pic- 
nics, a  captive  balloon,  squalling  babies  covered 
with  prickly  heat,  drooling  sots  and  boozy  women 
with  their  hair  in  strings,  a  boardwalk  fetid  with 
sweaty  citizens,  museums  with  snake-charmers 
who  could  charm  nothing  else,  pretzels,  fly- 
haunted  pyramids  of  mucilaginous  pies,  shrieking 
babies  with  pins  sticking  in  them,  spanked  by 
weary  mothers  and  sworn  at  by  jaded  fathers, 
lemonade  where  overfed  flies  commit  suicide, 
only  to  be  disinterred  by  unmanicured  thumbs, 
nigrescent  bananas,  heel-marked  orange  peel- 
ings, fractured  chicken  bones,  shooting  galler- 
ies snapping  and  banging  and  smelly  of  powder, 
saloons  odious  with  old  beer  slops  and  inebriates, 
umbrellas  on  the  sand  where  gat-toothed  bicy- 
clists grin  at  fat  beauties  of  enormous  hip,  little 
girls  and  boys  with  bony  legs  all  hives  and 
scratches  paddling  in  the  surf-lather  with  drip- 
ping drawers  and  fife-like  shrieks,  gaily  bedight 
nymphs  proud  of  their  shapes  and  dawdling  about 
in  wet  bathing  suits  that  keep  no  secrets,  poor 
little  mewling  babies  that  really  need  to  go 
home,  dance  halls  where  flat-headed  youths  and 
women  with  plackets  agape  spiel  slowly  in  a 
death-clutch,  German  bands  whose  music  sounds 
like  horses  with  the  heaves,  the  steeplechase, 
where  men  and  women  straddle  the  same  hobby- 
horse and  slide  yelling  down  the  ringing  grooves 
of  small  change,  rancid  sandwiches,  sticky 


at  Cone?  b?  tbe  Sea 


309 


candies  made  of  adulterated  sweets  and  dye, 
more  clam  chowder,  banging,  bumping  cars  on 
creaking  trestles  filled  with  yowling  couples, 
tangle-faced  babies  howling  toward  apoplexy, 
dusty  shoes,  obsolete  linen,  draggle  skirts,  sweat, 
fatigue,  felicity— that  is  the  Coney  Island  of 
long  memory. 

There  were  just  two 
things    about    it    that 
were     worth 
while:  first  was 
the  sense  of  de- 
light it  gave  you 
to  get  back  to 
New 
York; 
second, 

the  shoot-the- 
chutes,  where  one 
felt  the  rapture  of  a  seagull  swooping  to  the 
waves — the  long,  swift  glide  down  the  wet  incline, 
and  the  glorious  splash  into  the  flying  spray!— 
who  would  not  rather  be  a  gondolier  on  one  of 
those  flat  boats  than  Admiral  Makaroff  ?  or  the 
last  flying  machinist  who  spattered  to  the 
ground  ? 

But  these  were  the  two  exceptions  that  proved 
Coney  Island  to  be  a  nightmare  of  side-shows  in 
wooden  shacks,  peanuts  and  popcorn,  rag- 
throated  barkers,  hot  babies  spilling  out  of  tired 
arms — da  capo  al  fine. 


STEEPLECHASE 


310  £be  IReal  IRew 


To-day,  though!  The  paltry  Aladdin  has 
rubbed  his  lamp.  Palaces  have  leapt  aloft  with 
gleaming  minarets,  lagoons  are  spread  beneath 
arches  of  delight,  the  spoils  of  the  world's  revels 
are  spilled  along  the  beach,  rendering  dull  and 
petty  the  stately  pleasure  dome  that  Kubla 
Khan  decreed  in  Xanadu. 

One  night  in  the  winter  there  was  a  fire  —  a 
suspicious  fire  —  for  how  could  a  fire  be  both 
accidental  and  benevolent?  But,  anyway,  in 
one  crimson  night,  the  blood-red  waves  saw 
the  plague  spot  cremated,  all  the  evils  and  ugli- 
ness cleansed  as  on  a  pyre.  The  next  morning 
the  sun  with  smiling  eye  beheld  acres  of  embers, 
charred  timbers,  ashes.  Coney  fuit! 

Then  armies  of  carpenters  and  masons,  en- 
gineers, electricians  and  decorators  invaded 
Gomorrah.  And  this  year's  May  found  the 
old  Coney  Island  metamorphosed,  base  metals 
transmuted  into  gold  —  or  at  least  into  gilt.  Here 
is  alchemy!  here  the  palpable  stone  of  philoso- 
phy! Henceforward  London's  Earl's  Court 
is  a  churl's  back-yard,  the  fetes  of  Versailles  are 
nursery  games,  the  Mardi  gras  of  New  Orleans, 
the  Veiled  Prophet  of  St.  Louis,  the  carnivals  of 
Venice  are  sawdust  and  wax  ;  as  for  the  rare  and 
amazing  Durbar  of  India  —  that  is  an  everyday 
affair  here. 

Still,  on  the  outskirts  the  old  side-shows  persist 
like  parasites,  and  those  who  enjoy  nothing  till 
it  is  ancient  history  need  not  bewail  the  old 


Ht  Cone?  b£  tbe  Sea  311 

Coney  Island.  It  is  simply  shoved  to  one  side. 
In  its  old  abode  there  is  super-regal  splendor. 
Last  year's  Luna  Park  finds  this  year  a  rival, 
Dreamland,  and  the  two  have  exhausted  the 
achievements  of  past  and  the  ingenuities  of 
present  device  as  completely  as  their  passionate 
press  agents  have  squeezed  dry  the  dictionary  of 
flattering  epithet.  There  is  no  adjective  left  that 
does  not  smell  of  advertisement.  So  nouns  and 
numerals  must  coldly  foreshow  what  now  exists 
to  inflate  the  mind  and  deflate  the  purse. 

Luna  Park  has  waxed  to  the  harvest  fulness. 
It  claims  to  be  greater  than  the  St.  Louis  Fair, 
illuminated  beyond  any  spot  on  earth;  it  has 
reproduced  the  Court  of  Honor  of  the  Buffalo 
Pan-American  Exposition. 

It  covers  forty  acres,  twenty-four  of  them 
under  shelter.  Its  broad  sheet  of  water  is  not 
only  swept  by  gondolas  and  punts,  but  it  is  over- 
topped by  a  three-ring  circus  suspended  over 
the  waves.  Here  in  full  view  of  thousands,  in 
tiers  of  boxes  and  promenades,  the  spotted 
horses,  the  clowns,  the  acrobats,  jugglers,  hoop 
artists,  intellectual  elephants,  Arabian  pyramid- 
ists,  tumblers,  contortionists  disport  under  the 
crackling  lashes  of  the  ringmaster,  with  his 
long-tailed  coat  and  his  "Hoop-la!"  From  sky- 
ish  towers  wires  hang,  and  hereon  trapezists  and 
men  and  women  of  remarkable  equilibrium 
do  the  impossible  a  hundred  and  thirty  feet 
above  the  waters  that  serve  for  a  net.  This 


312  Gbe  IRcal  1Rew  H>orh 

circus  employs  the  most  famous  athletes,  yet  is 
free  to  all  who  enter  the  grounds. 

A  Japanese  tea  garden,  built  by  imported 
Japanese  architects  and  wood-carvers  and  flor- 
ists, is  rival  to  Yeddo.  In  the  flower  gardens 
thousands  of  tinted  electric  bulbs  are  hidden,  to 
turn  the  night  into  noon.  Babylonian  gardens 
hang  over  all. 

Two  high  towers  with  suspended  baskets 
will  whirl  the  most  phlegmatic  giddy  with  cen- 
trifugal thrills.  In  the  Helter-Skelter  you  may 
sit  down  on  a  polished  and  winding  slide  and 
renew  the  delights  of  banister  days.  The 
famous  Trip  to  the  Moon,  with  its  convincing 
illusions,  is  still  here,  and  you  may  go  also,  or 
think  you  go,  20,000  leagues  under  the  sea. 
Infant  incubators,  a  scenic  railway,  a  midnight 
express,'  a  German  village,  an  old  mill,  the  sea 
on  land,  a  monster  dance  hall,  a  laughing  show, 
a  shoot-the-chutes  are  mere  details. 

You  will  see  battleships,  torpedo  boats,  sub- 
marines and  mines  all  combined  in  mimic  war. 
One  of  the  most  elaborate  dramas  of  realism 
is  a  whole  city  block  crowded  with  people  en- 
gaged in  all  the  business  and  humor  of  town. 
Suddenly  a  building  takes  fire,  a  policeman  rings 
the  alarm,  three  fire  engines,  three  hose  carts 
and  cordons  of  police  appear.  The  whole  block 
burns  furiously  in  spite  of  the  streams  from  the 
hose  of  a  whole  division.  Fifty  persons  are 
rescued  from  the  windows  by  ladders  or  blankets : 


Ht  Cone?  bp  tbc  Sea 


313 


AN    OLD 

CONEY 

ISLANDER 


as  the  last  woman  is  saved  the 
walls  collapse.  A  thousand  actors 
perform  this  big  play. 

The  climax  of  beauty  is  a  repro- 
duction of  the  Durbar  of  India. 
Ancient  Delhi  is  shown  to  the  life, 
including  an  Indian  sawmill  with 
elephants  at  work  or  diving  from 
heights  into  deep  pools.  The  Dur- 
bar itself  employs  the  largest  herd 
of  elephants  in  the  world,  sixty-seven  in  all,  com- 
manded by  native  mahouts,  and  decorated  as 
nearly  as  possible  in  reproduction  of  the  actual 
Hindu  festival. 

The  rival  paradise,  Dreamland,  is  said  to  have 
cost  over  $3,000,000.  It  has  taken  over  the  old 
Iron  Pier  and  built  above  it  the  largest  ball- 
room ever  made,  20,000  square  feet;  beneath  is 
the  restaurant  and  a  promenade,  and  beneath 
all  the  cool  rush  of  the  surf.  The  company  runs 
four  large  steamers,  as  well  as  Santos-Dumont's 
Airship  No.  9. 

In  Dreamland  you  find  a  street  called  "the 
Bowery  with  the  lid  off,"  the  spectacular  Fall 
of  Pompeii,  a  haunted  house,  a  reproduction  of 
the  Doge's  Palace,  a  complete  midget  village 
inhabited  by  three  hundred  Liliputians,  a  minia- 
ture railway,  a  double  shoot-the-chutes,  a  coast- 
ing trip  through  Switzerland,  a  leapfrog  rail- 
way, a  camp  and  battle  scene,  a  baby  incubator 
plant,  Bostock's  Animal  Show,  the  highest  of  ob- 


314 


IRcal  IRew 


servation  towers,  a  funny-room  from  Paris  called 
"  C'est-a-rire,"  and,  finally,  the  Chilkoot  Pass,  a 
great  bagatelle  board,  where  the  sliders  win  a 
prize  if  they  can  steer  themselves  into  certain 
crevasses  in  the  glaciers.  Besides  there  is  a 
great  fire-fighting  scene,  not  to  mention  a 
theatre  where  the  best  known  vaudevillians  hold 
sway,  and  innumerable  music. 

But  Luna  Park  and  Dreamland  are  not  the 
only  spectacles  of  Pantagruelian  proportions. 
There  are  others  that  have  cost  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  or  more,  such  as  the  Johnstown 
Flood,  in  vivid  reproduction,  and  the  trip  to  the 
North  Pole  by  way  of  a  completely  equipped 
submarine,  with  an  amazingly  ingenious  illusion 
of  the  sea  floor  and  the  Arctic  realm.  There  is 
also  a  huge  theatre  where  a  mimic  New  York 
is  bombarded  and  destroyed  by  hostile  fleets 
after  a  furious  battle  with  the  crumbling  forts. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


LET  US    GO  A-SLUMMING NEW  YORK  S  SLUMS  AND  THOSE 

OF  OTHER  CITIES DRUNKENNESS  IN  VARIOUS  CAPITALS 

—SORROWS    OF    RICH  AND   POOR AMELIORATION THE 

CRIME  OF  AIDING  BEGGARS — THE  OLD  HAUNTS  OF  VICE 

— TEACHING    CHILDREN    TO    PLAY — THE    MORGUE THE 

CITY  HOSPITALS    AND    PRISONS — THE    BOWERY    OF    OLD 

AND   NOW BAXTER   STREET THE   GHETTO THE   MOST 

DENSELY    POPULATED    SPOT    IN    THE    WORLD THE   FISH 

MARKET THE  SWEAT-SHOP THE  LUNG  BLOCK- — A  CON- 
TRAST  THE   METROPOLITAN   OPERA   HOUSE   ON   A   GALA 

NIGHT 


TO  the  much-traveled  Ulysses  who  has  gone 
through  the  Infernos  of  poverty  in  Lon- 
don, Naples,  Constantinople,  Cairo  and  India 
the  miseries  of  the  New  York  poor  will  prove  a 
deep  disappointment,  for  few  things  are  so  dis- 
appointing as  to  find  a  mediocre  comfort  where 
one  had  expected  a  lurid  agony.  Drunkenness 
is  far  more  frequent  in  New  York  than  it  should 
be,  heaven  knows,  and  the  sight  of  intoxicated 
women  is  by  no  means  uncommon,  especially 
at  midnight.  But  in  this  respect  it  is  infinitely 
superior  to  London,  where  besotted  females— 
they  can  no  longer  be  called  women — fill  the 
"publics"  and  lie  innumerably  in  gutters  and 
on  doorsteps  all  about  the  great  city,  till  it  seems 
that  it  must  have  rained  scarecrows.  London- 


316  £be  iReal  IRew 

ers  are  deeply  hurt  when  Americans  complain 
of  the  ghastly  inebriation  and  the  constant  fight- 
ing of  withered  Bacchantes.  The  virtuously 
Episcopal  London  prides  itself  on  being  far  su- 
perior to  other  British  .cities,  especially  to  good 
old  Presbyterian  Glasgow,  where,  in  the  "Cow 
Gate,"  one  must  at  night  pick  his  way  with  care 
to  avoid  walking  on  those  who  have  fallen  in 
the  battle  with  Gambrinus.  It  is  only  in  the 
heathendom  of  Paris  and  the  beer-swimming 
Berlin  that  public  drunkenness  is  rare. 

The  poor  of  New  York  are  far  cleaner  of  ap- 
pearance and  far  neater  of  costume,  as  a  rule, 
than  the  British  poor;  though,  for  this,  the  lack 
of  soft  coal  and  mud  is  perhaps  more  to  credit 
with  than  the  taking  of  the  morning  tub. 

In  fact,  compared  with  many  cities,  there  is 
no  poverty  in  New  York  and  there  are  no  slums. 
And  yet,  compared  with  what  the  lover  of  his 
kind  would  wish  for  others  and  would  hate  to 
lack  for  himself,  there  is  bitter  wretchedness  in 
our  slums,  and  thousands  find  only  dregs  in  their 
cup  of  life. 

He  who  gives  his  charity  to  the  chance  beggar 
on  the  street  gives  it  to  one  who  is  in  almost 
every  instance  a  common  thief,  stealing  from 
those  who  need  and  deserve. 

There  are  few  beggars  in  New  York  com- 
pared with  Italy  and  Spain,  or  almost  any  Euro- 
pean country,  but  their  number  is  still  legion,  and 
they  are  full  of  ingenuity.  The  woman  who  has 


Xet  1H0  (So  lUSlumming          sir 

lost  her  carfare;  the  bedraggled  mother  with  the 
infant  in  her  arms;  the  pathetic  blind  man;  the 
hoarse-voiced  workingman  out  of  a  job;  the 
elegantly  dressed  gentleman  with  the  Southern 
accent  whose  remittance  from  Richmond  is  em- 
barrassingly delayed;  the  epileptic  who,  in  his 
own  technical  language,  "chucks  a  dummy  fit"; 
the  famous  crumb-thrower  who  darts  into  the 
gutter  for  a  crumb  of  bread  which  he  has  care- 
fully thrown  there  and  now  absent-mindedly 
devours  as  if  unconscious  of  being  observed;  the 
young  man  who  is  stranded  and  wants  a  dime 
for  a  bed  or  a  little  money  to  pay  his  fare  back 
home — these  and  many  others  who  prey  upon  the 
shallow  sympathy  of  weak  men  and  women 
should  be  left  unheeded  or  turned  over  to  the 
police. 

Tell  them  that  there  is  a  charity  association 
on  Twenty-second  Street  with  competent  facili- 
ties for  any  actual  need  and  note  the  answer  of 
scorn  that  you  receive.  Offer  to  take  one  of 
them  who  is  starving  to  a  restaurant  and  try  to 
make  him  eat  as  a  starving  man  would  and  see 
what  happens.  But  if  you  have  any  self-re- 
spect or  any  real  heart  for  the  genuinely  honest 
victims  of  ill-luck,  give  your  money  wisely  to 
those  whose  business  it  is  to  hunt  out  and  pro- 
tect the  honorable  poor.  Those  who  drop  their 
clanging  pennies  into  the  tin  can  of  the  profes- 
sional beggar,  and  give  with  proud  thoughts  of 
decent  act,  are  only  accessories  in  crime,  and 


318 


IReal  IRew 


their  tenderness  is  that  of  the  mother  who  gives 
her  child  a  box  of  matches  because  it  asks  for 
them. 

In  a  word,  the  charities  of  New  York,  in  spite 
of  all  their  human  imperfections,  have  been  so 
completely  organized  that  you  need  never  ques- 
tion this  statement:  Everyone  who  begs  is  a 
professional  beggar,  no  matter  what  the  story 
or  how  plausible  the  appearance. 

It  would  be  far  more  picturesque 
and  dramatic  to  draw  a  picture  of 
the  New  York  slums  in  colors  bor- 
rowed from  a  stormy  sunset,  with 
black  clouds  of  poverty  banked  up 
in  mountains,  shot  through  with 
red  streaks  of  crime,  with  the  light- 
ning flashes  of  murder,  and  with 
the  thunder  of  ferocious  strife  for 
existence;  but  the  effort  of  this 
chapter  is  toward  reality,  and 
reality  seen  in  some  perspective 
and  proportion. 

But  let  us  to  the  slums  to  see  how  the  slum- 
sters  live  and  how  the  slums  amuse  themselves. 
Of  all  the  people  who  have  come  to  New 
York  for  some  years,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Granger,  of 
Terre  Haute,  had  the  greatest  expectations  of 
finding  unmitigated  vice  in  the  high  places  and 
immitigable  wretchedness  in  the  low.  Peter 
Simes,  however,  having  constituted  himself  a 
committee  of  one  on  conspiracy,  had  proceeded 


A    NEW    YORKER 


let  Ids  (Bo  ZUSlummtng          319 

in  cold  blood  to  rob  Terre  Haute  of  the  most 
stirring  scenes  from  Sheol  that  were  ever 
launched  from  a  pulpit. 

'There  are  three  famous  places  I  have  al- 
ways heard  of  and  must  not  fail  to  see,"  said 
Mr.  Granger.  "They  are  the  most  notorious 
haunts  of  vice  in  New  York,  and  while  my 
series  of  sermons  has  dwindled  down  to  one  or 
two,  I  must  tell  my  parishioners  of  the  festering 
wickedness  of  these  places:  Five  Points,  Mul- 
berry Bend  and  Corlear's  Hook.  Will  you  take 
me  there?" 

"Suttainly,    suh!"    exclaimed    the    Southern 
poet,  with  unwonted  joy. 

Five  Points — so  named  because  several  streets 
so  cross  as  to  leave  five  small  and  irregular  blocks 
—is  only  a  few  steps  north  of  City  Hall,  and 
once  had  a  beautiful  reputation.  The  word 
tenement  did  not  then  mean  that  large  and 
sanitary  and  fire-escape-full  hotel  which  the 
law  now  means  by  tenement,  but  a  foul  rookery 
of  melodramatic  charms.  In  its  day  of  glory 
Five  Points  was  full  of  grogshops  and  dens  of 
iniquity.  The  Five  Pointers  killed  a  policeman 
every  few  months,  and  the  station  nearby  was 
called  the  "Bloody  Sixth."  But  a  ruthless 
Board  of  Health  with  no  regard  for  the  feelings 
of  novelists  or  the  ennui  of  tourists  closed  up 
such  sweet  crannies  as  Donovan's  Lane  and 
Cow  Bay,  and  gave  the  name  of  Worth  to  An- 
thony Street — where  the  saint  would  have  been 


320  £be  IReal  mew 


violently  invited  but  not  seriously  tempted  by 
the  nymphs  of  the  region. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Granger,  to  his  unutterable 
regret,  found  Five  Points  a  clean  and  prosaic 
group  of  solid  buildings  all  devoted  to  business, 
except  the  Five  Points  House  of  Industry  and 
the  Five  Points  Mission.  At  the  Mission  the 
"Shoe  Club"  was  making  its  weekly  distribu- 
tion of  free  footwear  to  poor  children. 

"This  wonderful  change  pleases  me  beyond 
words,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Granger,  and  he 
could  hardly  keep  back  his  tears.  "  Let  us  take 
a  glance  now  at  that  swamp  of  wickedness,  Mul- 
berry Bend." 

Simes,  with  a  malicious  gleam  in  his  eye, 
played  Virgil  to  the  zealous  Dante  and  led  him 
a  short  distance  to  the  right  to  Mulberry  Bend. 
Here  was  a  broad  park  filled  with  children, 
playing,  romping  and  laughing,  while  the 
mothers  rested  their  weary  bones  on  the  benches 
and  watched  their  offspring  dabbling  in  the 
fountain  or  flying  through  the  air  on  the  swings. 
Nearby  was  a  big  schoolhouse. 

"This  is  Mulberry  Bend  as  it  is,  suh,"  said 
Simes.  "In  other  parts  of  the  town  there  are 
other  parks  like  this,  where  the  poor  may  come 
to  breathe  and  the  children  to  be  children. 
They  are  called  the  lungs  of  New  York.  Some 
people  object,  because  there  is  not  mo'  grass  in 
-these  places,  and  because  they  are  not  filled  with 
'  God's  beautiful  flowers.'  But  grass  weahs  out 


CONEY   ISLAND 


Xct  Tfls  (So  ZUSlumming         321 

like  a  boy's  breeches,  suh,  and  these  children 
infinitely  prefeh  the  outdo'  gymnasiums,  the 
cindeh  tracks  and  the  smooth  places  where 
they  can  play  their  games  and  run  wild." 

There  are  other  parks  with  more  elaborate 
gymnasiums  than  this,  such  as  the  Seward  Park, 
the  Hamilton  Fish  Park  and  the  Tompkins 
Square  Park.  At  night,  in  the  summer,  there 
are  band  concerts  here  as  well  as  on  the  many 
Recreation  Piers,  where  the  poor  can  enjoy  the 
luxury  the  rich  feel  when  they  sit  out  on  balconies 
overlooking  the  moonlit  waters.  The  most 
pathetic  thing  about  these  children's  play- 
grounds is  the  fact  that  when  they  were  first 
opened  the  poor  little  wretches  stood  about,  not 
knowing  what  to  do.  They  had  been  used  to 
the  hot  streets  and  the  dingy  tenements,  and 
they  were  deeply  ignorant  of  the  games  that 
normal  childhood  knows.  The  little  girls  had 
learned  to  play  housekeeping  and  funerals — • 
they  knew  enough  of  these — but  the  boys  knew 
little  except  street  arab  wickedness  and  the 
fighting  of  gang  against  gang.  It  was  high  time 
to  open  these  parks.  There  is  surely  no  more 
beautiful  form  of  education  than  teaching  chil- 
dren to  romp. 

But  probably  the  sight  of  so  much  comfort 
and  recreation  never  caused  so  much  despond- 
ency in  a  human  heart  before.  In  a  failing  tone 
the  minister  said : 

"Take  me,  then,  to  Corlear's  Hook,  where  the 
21 


322  £be  IRcal 


marble  yards  are,  and  where,  as  I  used  to  read, 
the  criminals,  after  having  committed  their  fel- 
onies or  their  murders,  take  refuge  in  the  wil- 
derness of  the  stone  yards  and  the  policemen 
do  not  dare  to  go  alone  or  even  in  couples." 

Simes  led  the  way  across  to  the  old  Belt  Line 
of  horse  cars  that  still  swings  round  the  circle, 
and  they  bounced  along  near  the  river,  with  its 
forest  of  masts  and  its  caravans  of  sailing  ves- 
sels moored  to  the  slips.  They  eventually  ar- 
rived at  a  large  sweep  of  green  with  graceful 
pavilions  and  playgrounds  fronting  the  river. 

"This  is  Corlear's  Hook,"  said  Simes.  The 
Rev.  Mr.  Granger  dropped  limply  upon  a  bench 
and  found  no  cheer  in  the  thronging  commerce 
that  swept  down  the  river,  nor  even  in  the  view 
of  the  governmental  Navy  Yard  across  the 
stream.  Here,  in  a  deep  indentation  on  the 
Brooklyn  Shore,  known  as  Wallabout  Bay,  the 
old  prison-ship  Jersey  was  once  moored,  and 
here,  where  our  ancestors  rotted  and  starved, 
to-day  our  warships  come  glorious  home  from 
the  ends  of  the  oceans.  From  the  Park  they 
could  see  the  old  frigate  Vermont  and  the  huge 
drydocks,  with  their  swinging  cranes  that  pluck 
up  a  twelve-inch  gun  like  a  lead  pencil. 

But  the  minister  was  interested  in  none  of 
these  things.  Nothing  would  cheer  him  but  mis- 
ery, and  he  longed  to  see  crime.  So  Simes  de- 
cided to  take  him  to  Blackwell's  Island  by  ferry. 
He  stopped  to  obtain  a  pass  from  the  Depart- 


Xct  ia0  <So  SUSlumming         323 

ment  of  Charities  at  the  famous  Bellevue  Hos- 
pital at  the  foot  of  East  Twenty-sixth  Street. 
The  pass  was  given  without  hesitation.  Before 
taking  the  ferry  they  paused  at  the  Morgue, 
where  those  who  enjoy  that  sort  of  spectacle,  or 
those  whom  awful  necessity  brings  there  in 
search  of  the  lost,  may  find  the  unidentified  and 
the  unclaimed  dead  lying  in  chill  nakedness  on 
the  marble  slabs  under  the  drip-drip-drip  of  icy 
water.  How  they  stare  through  the  glass,  ap- 
pealing for  decent  burial! 

Then  Simes  and  Granger  took  ferry  to  Black- 
weirs.  On  this  long,  slim  strip  of  land,  known 
simply  as  "the  Island"  to  all  criminals,  stands 
not  only  the  great  prison,  but  also  an  almshouse, 
a  workhouse,  various  asylums  and  hospitals  and 
especially  a  great  charity  hospital.  There  is 
strict  discipline  here.  The  routine  is  occasion- 
ally interrupted  by  a  mad  dash  of  some  prisoner 
to  escape  and  swim  ashore;  but  the  patrol 
boats  get  him  if  he  doesn't  drown  in  the  swift 
tide  that  comes  flashing  down  from  Hell  Gate. 
Still  further  north  are  Ward's  and  Randall's 
Islands,  which  the  city  has  taken  for  its  own 
and  on  which  it  has  built  a  magnificent  system 
of  palaces  for  the  care  of  those  who  are  afflicted 
with  any  of  the  chronic  diseases  of  insanity,  pov- 
erty or  what  we  call  crime. 

This  inspection  was  so  long  and  interesting 
a  tour  that  the  minister  reached  his  boarding- 
house  at  a  late  hour  and  in  great  fatigue.  He 


324  £be  iReal  IRew  H)orfc 

had  seen  much  crime  and  much  misery,  but 
they  were  both  housed  in  all  possible  comfort, 
where  they  would  do  the  least  harm  and  be  done 
the  most  good. 

That  same  morning  De  Peyster  had  started 
forth  to  show  Myrtle  what  he  knew  of  the  slums. 
They  took  the  Madison  Avenue  car  and  it  car- 
ried them  through  Union  Square,  which  was  once, 
like  Washington,  Madison  and  Bryant  Squares,  a 
dismal  Potter's  Field,  from  which  even  the  dead 
were  gradually  evicted  by  the  restless  northward 
growth.  The  beauty  of  these  green  gardens, 
where  the  jaded  can  rest  and  the  children  scam- 
per, is  a  type  of  the  evolution  of  all  the  black 
spots  of  New  York. 

The  car  went  on  its  way,  passing  Cooper 
Union,  the  meeting-house  and  reading-room  of 
the  poor.  In  front  of  it  stands  Saint-Gaudens's 
bronze  statue  of  the  homely  old  philanthropist 
who  founded  it.  As  they  passed  De  Peyster  said : 

"Now  we  are  in  the  Bowery." 

"Why,  it's  still  the  same  street." 

'Yes,  but  it  has  changed  its  name  to  Bowery 
or,  rather,  this  place  still  keeps  its  old  Dutch 
name  when  it  was  the  lane  between  the  Bou- 
weries;  that  is,  the  farms." 

"But  it  looks  so  respectable,  with  all  these 
business  houses  and  fine  shops  and  beautiful 
savings  banks." 

'Yes,  it  is  so  changed  from  the  old  days  that 
many  of  the  business  men  want  to  give  up  the 


Xct  ^0  ©o  JUSlumming 


325 


ancient  name.  The  day  of  the  'Dead  Rabbit' 
gangs  and  the  old  man-eating  'Bowery  B 'hoys' 
is  gone  forever.  This  is  the  Broadway  of  the 
East  Side  and  the  aristocracy  of  the  slums  come 
here  to  buy  their  carpenter's  tools,  their  hats  and 
clothes  and  shoes,  to  buy  their  diamonds,  to  revel 
in  the  auctions,  to  pawn  their  winter  clothes  in 
summer  and  their 
summer  clothes  in 
winter,  or  to  see  a  rous- 
ing melodrama.  On  the 
Bowery  you  can  get 
what  they  call  a , '  good 
regular  meal '  for  twen- 
ty-five cents;  elsewhere 
they  call  it  table  d'hote 
and  charge  you  fifty 
cents  for  less  and 
worse. 

"But  still  the  Bowery 
is  not  quite  dead,  and  it 
has  so  much  individuality  to  the  poorer  classes 
that  you  cannot  wonder  at  their  homesickness 
for  it  wljen  they  are  in  other  towns.  The  worst 
thing  they  can  say  of  another  town  is  '  This  place 
is  too  far  from  the  Bowery.'  The  Bowery  is 
the  street  the  sailors  of  all  the  navies  of  the 
world  first  make  for  when  they  make  this  port. 
It  means  all  to  them  that  a  Paris  boulevard 
means  to  the  -flaneur.  For  on  the  Bowery  you 
can  buy  everything,  from  a  toothpick  to  an 


ON    BAXTER    STREET 


326  £be  iReal  mew  JPorfc 

anchor,  and  the  whisky  is  the  strongest  and  the 
glasses  the  longest  in  the  world.  The  sailor  can 
find  a  concert  hall  or  a  variety  show  always  go- 
ing, and  he  can  get  his  palm  read,  his  forearm 
tattooed  or  his  pocket  picked  with  the  greatest 
ease.  It  may  amuse  you  to  see  one  of  these 
seedy  Dime  Museums  where  the  poor  are  enter- 
tained." 

They  left  the  car  and  went  into  the  yawning 
entrance  of  a  tall  building  plastered  with  an- 
nouncements of  all  the  wonders  of  the  world, 
from  the  smallest  dwarf  to  the  lady  who  outdoes 
Katisha  and  wears  a  mane  between  her  shoulder- 
blades;  from  the  man  built  like  a  horse  to  the 
horse  that  knows  more  than  a  man;  from  living 
pictures  to  prehistoric  skeletons. 

De  Peyster  paid  his  money  to  a  languid 
maiden  in  a  booth  and  passed  from  the  flare  of 
posters  to  the  dingy  rooms  where  cheap  curiosi- 
ties failed  to  evoke  curiosity.  On  the  next  floor 
was  the  gallery  of  the  freaks,  and  here  blinking 
albinos,  fat  ladies  who  were  not  so  very  fat  and 
living  skeletons  who  were  not  so  very  thin  ex- 
changed commonplace  conversation  with  a  short- 
skirted,  fuzzy-headed,  gum-chewing  Circassian 
princess  who  offered  photographs  of  herself  with 
a  drapery  of  pythons.  The  deadly  ophidians  lay 
dozing  in  a  box  nearby;  they  looked  as  danger- 
ous as  so  many  sections  of  rubber  hose. 

De  Peyster  was  for  buying  everything  to  be 
bought  and  wore  a  mask  of  immense  enthusiasm 


Xct  1H0  (So  ZUSlumming         227 

for  everything.  He  engaged  the  freaks  in  con- 
versation and  spent  on  them  the  courtesies  he 
would  have  shown  to  a  marchesa.  His  reward 
was  the  final  compliment  of  the  princess,  who 
said  to  him  in  purest  Circassian: 

"Say,  I  don't  wan'  to  give  yuh  no  jolly,  but 
usen't  youse  to  be  on  the  stage  ?  No  ?  'Onesto- 
gawd!  You  act  so  much  like  a  poyfec'  gent  I 
thought  youse  must  be  a  actor." 

At  this  moment  the  barker  brought  forward 
a  poor  wreck  of  congenital  malformation,  one  of 
the  infinite  variety  of  twins  that  have  come 
coupled  into  the  world.  Showing  the  object  of 
pity  as  if  it  were  an  object  of  pride,  he  broke 
out,  in  a  nasal  sing-song: 

"  Come,  see  this  miracle  of  Gawd's  handiwork. 
Is  it  not  interesting  as  well  as  instructing  ?  I  want 
you  all  to  take  a  good  look  and  then  go  home  and 
tell  your  friends  that  you  have  seen  Gawd's  own 
handiwork  for  ten  cents.  Gawd's  handiwork, 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  Next  I  invite  your  atten- 
tion to  the  wonderful  lady  who  eats  glass." 

When  the  talented  lady  had  performed,  De 
Peyster  said : 

"It's  really  wonderful  how  that  woman  di- 
gests all  those  candy  bottles." 

The  piano-mauler  now  began,  and  De  Peys- 
ter harkened  to  the  voice  of  another  barker 
who  recommended  the  great  dramatic  enter- 
tainment— •"  admission,  only  five  cents,  a  nickel 
or  half  a  dime!  Come  one,  come  all!" 


328  £be  IRcal 


The  dramatic  entertainment  was  on  the  third 
floor,  and  it  was  deadly,  save  for  the  living 
pictures  in  which  two  or  three  ill-formed  women 
took  awkward  poses  in  grotesque  imitation  of 
imaginary  classic  statuary. 

"The  next  group,"  said  the  barker,  "will  be 
especially  fine.  You  have  all  doubtless  been  to 
college"  —several  alumni  of  the  night  school 
and  business  college  sat  up  straighter—  "  and 
while  there  you  have  doubtless  read  the  works 
of  Homer,  a  poet  much  used  iri  schools  and 
colleges.  The  next  group  is  from  one  of  his 
beautiful  poems,  where  he  describes  Aenius 
bidding  farewell  to  Dado." 

De  Peyster  fled  with  Myrtle  up  another  flight 
of  stairs  to  the  Wax  Works  Palace.  Of  all 
horrors  wax  works  are  the  most  horrific.  The 
worst  of  them  have  a  reality  that  is  uncanny,  and 
their  glistening  skins,  raw  colors  and  glassy 
eyes,  empty  clothes  and  stiff  poses  are  annoying 
as  a  grotesque  caricature  that  tells  a  bitter 
truth  inescapably.  But  when  you  find  them  in 
an  obsolete  condition,  with  their  wax  melted, 
their  eyes  askew,  their  colors  run,  their  clothes 
moth-eaten  and  their  straw  stuffing  coming  out; 
and  when  these  wrecks  are  grouped  to  represent 
moral  lessons,  the  deeds  and  the  punishments  of 
murderers,  throat-cutters  —  De  Peyster  and  Myr- 
tle fairly  tumbled  downstairs  to  get  back  to  the 
air  and  real  people. 

De  Peyster  insisted  on  stopping  at  a  gallery 


let  1KB  (So  H^Slumming 


329 


to  have  their  photographs  taken  on  a  button. 
The  artist — on  the  Bowery  everybody  is  an 
artist  who  handles  anything  daintier  than  a  pick 
—the  artist  treated  them  as  lovers,  to  De  Peys- 
ter's  joy  and  Myrtle's  embarrassment.  De 
Peyster  examined  with  great  enthusiasm  the 
pictures  of  Bowery  bridal  couples:  the  groom 
always  sits  down  and  it  is 
hard  to  say  whether  he  is 
suffering  more  from  his  "  noo 
soot  of  hand-me-downs,"  his 
tight  shoes  or  from  the  pho- 
tographer's fork,  the  tines  of 
which  are  stuck  in  the  back 
of  his  skull. 

De  Peyster 
studied  these 
bridal  pho- 


IN    LITTLE    ITALY 


tographs  with  deep  respect,  and  began  to  ask, 
"How  much  do  you  charge  for  these?  Do 
you  think  you  could  make  a  good  group  of 

us  two ?" 

But  Myrtle  had  gone,  and  he  had  to  run  to 
catch  her.  He  found  her  red  as  fire,  but  not 
altogether  angry,  so  he  turned  off  the  Bowery 
now  to  Mulberry  Street,  the  new  Naples.  The 


330  Gbe  IRcal  IRew  l!?orfc 

day  was  warm,  with  a  presage  of  summer.  It 
was  a  day  for  opening  windows  and  laying  off 
overcoats. 

It  was  spring  in  Little  Italy !  And  the  Neapol- 
itan soul  came  out  to  meet  the  incoming  spring— 
herself  an  Italian  immigrant  with  her  sack  full 
of  Favonian  breezes,  for  winter  was  gone,  and  it 
was  spring's  turn  to  play,  as  said  that  earlier 
Italian : 

"  Solvitur  acris  hiems,  grata  vice  veris  et  Favoni." 
Mulberry  Street  was  all  out  of  doors.  Those 
who  were  not  in  the  street  or  on  the  sidewalk 
were  hanging  from  the  windows  and  calling  to 
one  another  from  the  fire-escapes.  The  push- 
carts were  jammed  and  tangled  everywhere, 
selling  fresh  tomatoes  from  Florida,  which  these 
good  souls  could  ill  afford  yet  could  not  deny 
themselves.  In  the  windows  of  the  shops  were 
heaped  up  fruits  from  Sicily  and  Calabria,  and 
ropes  of  Italian  melons  strung  in  garlands. 
Cheeses  in  bladders  hung  next  to  kegs  of  Italian 
wines  and  cans  of  oil  from  real  olives.  The 
graceful  fiaschi  gurgled  of  home  to  these  exiles. 
And  their  costumes  showed  their  patriotism. 
For  they  had  not  yet  laid  aside  their  heavy 
shawls  and  green  capes.  They  had  not  for- 
gotten to  sing  in  the  streets.  The  women  had 
not  learned  the  use  of  hats  nor  the  men  of  col- 
lars. In  the  saloons  they  lounged  and  exchanged 
jovial  gossip  that  sounded  to  the  stranger  like 
the  bloodthirsty  threat  of  brigands,  for  the 


Xct  Uls  (So  EUStumming         331 

Italian  language,  so  mellow  in  the  singing  when 
the  vowels  are  dwelt  upon,  is  ragged  with  con- 
sonants in  the  speech ;  even  the  double  consonants 
are  kept  distinct  and  not  slurred  like  ours. 

Myrtle  was  regretting  her  failure  to  bring  her 
sketching  materials,  for  every  spot  was  a  pic- 
ture, every  group  a  composition.  She  was  in 
raptures  over  the  beauty  of  the  black-haired, 
olive-toned  women  and  the  still  greater  beauty 
of  the  men.  For  all  the  unfitness  of  the  cos- 
tume they  affect,  with  the  short  and  overtight 
corduroys,  nothing  could  rob  them  of  their  great 
Latin  eyes  or  of  their  frank  vanities  of  pose  and 
manner.  Paupers  though  they  are,  they  have 
something  of  the  gallantry  of  the  Decameronian 
gardens. 

"Look  at  that  Grecian  nose,"  cried  Myrtle, 
"  and  those  Praxitelesian  curls." 

'Their  forefathers  were  Greek  immigrants  to 
Sicily  and  Naples,  as  they  are  colonists  here," 
said  De  Peyster. 

He  took  her  to  one  of  those  shops  where  the 
street  pianos  are  made  and  rented  and  repaired. 
For  a  few  dollars  any  new  tune  can  be  inserted 
on  the  great  barrel-shaped  pin-cushion.  These 
clattering  instruments  are  the  lutes  wherewith 
the  modern  Trovatori  go  about  the  city  distribu- 
ting Mascagni's  Intermezzo  and  the  latest  rag- 
time hysteria  indiscriminately.  In  the  poorer 
quarters  these  strolling  musicians  are  royally 
welcomed.  It  is  a  poor  woman  indeed  who 


332  £be  IRcal  IRew 


cannot  rest  from  her  sewing  long  enough  to 
revel  in  the  pathos  of  "Those  Cruel  Words 
Should  Not  Be  Spoken,"  and  to  wrap  up  a 
penny  in  a  scrap  of  paper  and  throw  it  down 
in  gratitude.  And  then  the  little  knots  of  chil- 
dren dancing  in  the  streets,  cotillions  in  tatters, 
ragged  dance  -  raptures  of  demoiselles  of  the 
gutter. 

As  Myrtle  and  De  Peyster  left  Mulberry 
Street,  they  paused  to  watch  an  Italian  funeral. 
They  learned  that  the  dead  man  had  kept  a 
fruit-stand,  and  that  he  lived  in  a  few  rooms  in 
a  big  tenement;  but  he  was  rich  for  Mulberry 
Street.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Fratellanzo 
Calvellese  (The  Fraternity  from  the  village  of 
Calvello),  and  now  a  hundred  of  his  brotherhood 
had  left  off  work  for  a  day  to  escort  him  to 
Calvary  Cemetery  in  Brooklyn.  Each  of  them 
was  dressed  in  black  and  wore  in  his  lapel  a 
black  ribbon  with  silver  letters.  The  men 
marched  in  double  file;  at  the  head  of  one  file 
the  green,  red  and  white  flag  of  Italy  wreathed  in 
crape,  and  at  the  head  of  the  other  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  of  their  new  country.  The  procession 
was  led  by  a  brass  band  in  brilliant  uniform,  the 
hearse  was  heaped  with  flowers  and  followed 
by  a  second  band.  Then  came  the  double  file 
of  the  brotherhood,  and  after  that  twenty  closed 
carriages  filled  with  women  and  childen.  Mass 
had  been  heard  at  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  of 
Loretto.  As  they  moved  along  with  funeral 


Xet  TH&  (So  JUSlumming 

music,  the  foreigners  lifted  their  hats  till  the 
hearse  had  passed.  De  Peyster  did  the  same. 

From  Mulberry  Street  De  Peyster  turned  into 
Baxter  Street,  made  famous,  like  the  Bowery,  by 
a  song;  for  it  was  here  that  old  "  Solomon  Levi" 
lived.  Here,  in  front  of  every  clothing  store, 
was  a  rabid  puller-in  who  did  not  stop  at  pro- 
claiming his  wares  or  inviting  attention,  but 
seized  the  passer-by  and  tried  to  drag  him  in. 
Even  De  Peyster  was  laid  hold  on  and  could 
only  get  loose  by  threats.  Myrtle  thought  it  was 
a  great  irony  on  his  Brummellian  elegance  to  be 
haled  toward  such  hovels  of  cheap  clothing  till 
they  crossed  into  Division  Street,  where  women 
acted  as  pulleresses-in  for  cheap  millinery  shops, 
and  where  De  Peyster  had  to  rescue  her  almost 
by  force  from  their  clutches. 

"Do  you  hear  that  smell?"  he  asked.  "We 
have  come  from  sunny  Italy  into  Bessarabia, 
from  the  careless  joy  of  Naples  to  the  fierce 
money-hunger  of  the  Ghetto,  where  you  hear 
no  songs  and  little  laughter,  and  where  the 
thought  of  beauty  seems  never  to  interest  even 
the  women.  Where  Hester  Street  crosses  Di- 
vision Street  there  was,  a  few  years  ago,  what 
was  called  the  most  densely  populated  spot  on 
earth.  In  the  big  tenements  three  and  four  fam- 
ilies lived  in  one  room,  and  thought  it  nothing 
unusual  except  when  one  of  the  families  insisted 
upon  taking  in  boarders.  But  they  have  put  the 
William  H.  Seward  Park  there  now,  and  it  is 


334 


IReal  IRew  jj)orfc 


one  big  outdoor  gymnasium  where  the  children 
are  learning  the  art  of  fun." 

The  Ghetto  is  filled  with  the  homeless  race  of 
the  jealous  God  who  forbade  graven  images  and 
whose  faithful  people  abjured  sculpture  and 
painting.  The  rich  and  the  trav- 
eled of  the  nation  have  gone  after 
the  arts  as  well  as  the  daughters 
of  Moab,  and  in  all  the  arts 
have  shown  a  wonderfully 
high  average  of  success.  But 
the  peasants  reveal 
less  of  this  than  per- 
haps any  other  peas- 
ants of  the  civilized 
races.  The  men  are 
not  lazy,  yet  they 
carry  industry  to  a 
criminal  extent. 
Thrift  becomes  vicious;  they 
grow  wealthy  without  advan- 
taging themselves  of  the  graces 
which  wealth  can  buy  and 
ought  to  buy.  The  men,  with 
their  treasures  hoarded  away, 
ON  THOMPSON  STREET  look  like  beggars  and  live  like 

vermin. 

And  the  women  have  almost  less  sense  of  the 
beautiful  than  the  men.  They  begin  wrong  at 
the  start.  When  an  orthodox  Ghettess  marries, 
instead  of  trying  to  remain  beautiful  for  her  hus- 


Xct  1H0  (So  HUSlummlng          335 

band's  delight,  she  cuts  her  hair  short  as  a  trib- 
ute to  fidelity  and  thereafter  wears  a  hideous, 
brown,  ill-fitting  wig — a  schaitel — beneath  which 
her  own  ugly  poll  shows  ridiculously.  The  in- 
consistency is  like  that  of  the  Egyptians  who 
shaved  their  chins  and  stuck  on  a  false  beard, 
or  that  silly  dignity  of  the  English  Bench  which 
wears  a  powdered  wig  always  a  little  too  small. 
But  the  English  wigs  are  white  and  clean  and 
worn  only  by  men;  the  Ghetto  wigs  are  all  brown, 
dirty,  greasy,  slipshod,  odious — and  they  are 
worn  by  women. 

Heaven  help  the  nation  whose  women  cease 
to  be  foolishly  anxious  to  seem  beautiful!  If 
there  is  anyone  who  disbelieves  in  corsets,  let  him 
go  to  the  Ghetto.  Better  the  tightest  lacing  and 
all  the  concealed  derangements  of*  internal  af- 
fairs than  the  formlessness  that  comes  of  neg- 
lected waist  lines.  In  the  Ghetto  the  lean  wo- 
men are  slabsided  and  the  fat  are  unspeakable. 
The  young  women  are  slatterns  whose  hair- 
soon  to  be  snipped  away — is  heaped  up  in  dis- 
order; their  occasional  unavoidable  beauty  of 
feature  is  neglected  and  is  ruined  as  quickly  as 
possible.  The  old  women  are  hags  and  crones. 
Their  soul  life  is  no  fairer  than  their  bodily  exist- 
ence. Laughter  is  rare,  tender  and  amorous  poet- 
ry of  manner  or  speech  is  rare ;  beauty  is  a  thing 
despised.  All  of  us  are  greedy,  but  most  of  us  are 
ashamed  to  be  frank  in  the  matter.  In  the  Ghetto 
they  make  a  pride  of  greed,  an  honor  of  haggling 


336  Gbe  IReal  1Rew 


To  a  girl  of  Myrtle's  beauty,  her  zest  for  clean- 
liness, her  joy  in  beauty  of  line,  color  and  mo- 
tion, the  Ghetto  was  all  a  bad  dream.  The 
street  was  crowded  with  merchants;  everybody 
was  bent  on  selling  or  buying.  The  sidewalks 
were  diked  with  pushcarts  full  of  ugly  stone 
china,  fire-sale  remnants  of  cloths,  strings  of  gar- 
lic bulbs,  rank  vegetables,  leaden  knives,  forks 
and  spoons,  shiny  oilcloths,  tinware,  shoes- 
eve  ry  thing  graceless,  everything  hideous.  The 
little  shops  were  heaped  with  wares  remarkably 
uninviting;  the  cellar  doors  were  bazaars  of 
unpleasant  utensils;  old  crones  stood  about 
with  baskets  of  cheap  calicos,  ginghams  and 
coarse  laces. 

Buying  and  selling  were  not,  as  elsewhere,  a 
mere  affair  df  looking  at  a  price  mark  and  mak- 
ing up  one's  mind.  The  price  asked  was  only 
meant  as  a  declaration  of  war,  the  act  of  pur- 
chase was  a  battle  of  insult,  the  sale  was  a  com- 
promise of  mutual  hatred. 

"Weiberle,  weiberle,"  cries  the  merchant; 
"come  by  me  and  git  good  'meteiah9  (bargain)." 
The  woman  stops  with  a  sneer,  pokes  contempt- 
uously at  the  merchandise,  insults  it  and  the 
salesman,  underbids  him  half.  He  tries  to  prove 
that  he  would  die  of  starvation  if  he  yielded  to 
her  disgusting  bid.  She  implies  that  he  takes 
her  for  a  fool.  In  a  moment  he  is  telling  her 
that  he  hopes  her  children  may  strangle  with 
cholera  for  trying  to  make  a  beggar  of  him.  She 


AMATEUR  NIGHT  AT  A  BOWERY  THEATRE 


let  Ills  (So  ZUSlumming         337 

mswers  that  he  is  a  thief,  a  liar,  a  dog  of  an 
apostate  Jew.  She  makes  as  if  to  spit  on  his 
wares ;  he  grabs  them  from  her  and  throws  them 
back  on  the  heap.  At  length  a  sale  is  made  and 
she  moves  on  to  the  next  bout. 

If  there  were  in  this  any  of  the  exultant  rap- 
tures an  Irishman  feels  in  a  battle,  if  it  ended 
in  a  laugh,  if  it  made  in  the  least  for  happiness, 
it  would  be  small  matter.  But  it  is  as  miserable 
as  it  is  hideous.  Life  is  not  worth  living. 

Judea  in  New  York  has  many  phases.  It  has 
its  millionaires  living  in  palatial  homes;  it  has 
its  masters  of  music,  drama  and  all  the  arts;  it 
has  its  gilded  youth — someone  called  them  the 
Jewnose  doree;  it  has  brilliant  men  and  fascinating 
women  who  are  welcomed  with  pride  every- 
where; it  has  its  lower  middle  class  that  takes 
life  serenely  and  comfortably;  its  music-halls, 
its  theatres,  its  decent  fare.  But  in  its  lowest 
stages  it  furnishes  New  York  with  its  most  re- 
pulsive elements.  The  slums  of  the  Yankees, 
the  English,  the  Irish,  the  Italians,  the  Germans 
are  at  their  worst  more  vicious,  more  shiftless, 
more  helplessly  and  hopelessly  bad  than  lowest 
Jewry.  It  is  actually  the  higher  average  of  in- 
telligence and  energy  that  makes  the  Ghettites 
hardest  to  forgive.  The  others  are  lazy  and 
worthless  and  ugly  because  they  are  the  sifted 
chaff  of  their  races.  These  might  all  be  so  much 
better  and  live  so  much  more  wisely  and  cheer- 

fully. 
22 


338  £be  IReai  IRcw  U>orfc 

But  they  cling  to  the  brawl  and  stench  of  the 
Ghetto,  with  its  horrible  streets  and  its  more 
horrible  tenements,  so  high  and  so  crowded  that 
in  one  square  mile  there  are  250,000  souls — if 
souls  they  are.  In  rooms  where  the  sun  never 
reaches,  and  where  the  dust  is  never  disturbed, 
men,  women  and  children  sleep,  eat  and  perform 
all  the  necessary  and  unbeautiful  functions  of 
life.  Shame  is  a  different  thing  here  from  else- 
where ;  self-respect  and  respect  for  others  are  ex- 
otics that  perish  soon.  In  these  places  are  sweat- 
shops too  numerous  for  the  law  to  reach.  It 
is  not  only  in  the  shops  and  low-roofed  lofts 
that  they  sew;  the  home  also  is  a  shop. 

The  sewing  machines  whir  all  day  and  half 
the  night,  and  the  dancing  needles  stab  the 
numb  hearts  into  a  brutish  doggedness.  Father, 
mother,  the  sons,  the  daughters  and  the  little 
children  turn  and  baste  and  work  the  button- 
holes and  stitch  and  hem  hour  after  hour,  win- 
ter and  summer,  cold  season  or  hot.  In  the 
corner,  perhaps,  squats  an  old,  old  man.  His 
eyes  are  weak  and  his  trembling  fingers  drive 
the  needle  often  into  his  own  flesh,  but  still  he 
sews.  He  is  racked  with  a  consumptive's  cough, 
but  still  he  sews — sews  the  white  plague  into 
the  fabric  for  the  wretch  who  is  to  wear  it.  At 
night  he  sleeps  with  coats  and  trousers  for 
coverlets.  At  early  light  he  is  sewing  again; 
and  the  endless  seam  goes  on,  interrupted  only 
by  the  spasms  of  coughing,  coughing,  coughing. 


let  Tile  (So  B^SlumminQ          339 

At  the  sewing  machine  nearby,  in  the  dark 
corner  in  the  dim  light,  sits  one  of  his  daugh- 
ters. She  is  of  the  age  when  spring  stirs  in  the 
blood  and  the  heart  quickens  with  desire,  when 
every  woman  is,  or  should  be,  a  Juliet.  But  her 
heart  is  squeezed  back  in  her  bent  and  stunted 
breast.  Her  feet  tread  the  dance  of  the  eternal 
treadmill;  her  hands  caress  the  rough  cheviot 
of  a  cheap  sweat-shop  coat;  her  eyes  follow  the 
line  of  it  as  the  seam  runs  forever  under  the 
eager  needle.  She  hardly  pauses  to  brush  her 
neglected  hair  from  her  eyes;  she  cannot  stop  to 
sigh — and  what  should  she  sigh  for  ?  No  youth 
comes  wooing  her,  no  pretty  speeches  have  ever 
tingled  in  her  ears,  no  music  has  serenaded  her 
save  the  twitter  of  the  shuttle  and  the  buzz  of 
the  wheel,  the  orchestra  of  the  small  room  full 
of  whirring  machines.  She  knows  nothing  of 
joy;  fatigue,  pain,  fever — these  are  life.  She  also 
coughs  often  and  hard.  Her  old  father's  disease 
has  caught  her.  She  will  not  live  to  his  age. 
In  one  thing  at  least  she  is  blessed. 

But  Myrtle  knew  nothing  of  this.  She  would 
not  let  De  Peyster  lead  her  into  the  dark,  foul 
hallways  of  the  tenements.  The  open  air,  the 
street  scenes  were  more  than  she  could  bear. 

"Take  me  away  from  here,"  said  Myrtle. 
"It's  the  ghastliest  region  I  ever  was  in." 

"There  is  one  more  spot  you  must  see  before 
we  leave  the  slums.  They're  tearing  down  all 
the  really  beautiful  horrors  in  New  York,  and  in 


340  £be  iReal  IRew  H>orfc 

a  few  years  the  Ghetto  will  be  clean  and  orderly, 
and  there  will  be  a  park,  doubtless,  at  this  other 
place,  too.  But  while  it  lasts  it  is  a  genuine 
horror." 

They  walked  southward  through  gloomy  rows 
of  tenement  after  tenement,  till  they  reached  the 
cluster  of  ramshackle  structures  bounded  by 
Cherry,  Catharine,  Hamilton  and  Market 
Streets.  This  one  block  of  six  acres,  which  a 
farmer  would  count  hardly  big  enough  for  a 
pasture,  houses  a  city  of  more  than  3,000  persons ; 
on  each  acre  there  is  an  average  of  478  men, 
women  and  children  living  a  prairie-dog  life. 

All  of  the  tenements  are  full  of  the  gloom  and 
uncleanliness  of  overcrowded  dens.  The  worst 
of  them  is  called  the  Ink  Pot;  it  has  front  and 
rear  tenements  and  the  rooms  are  plague  spots 
where  tenant  after  tenant  has  died  of  consump- 
tion. It  holds  140  tenants,  Irish  and  Italian 
poor,  23  of  them  infants.  It  contains  twenty 
rooms  without  a  window.  It  is  the  pestilent 
centre  of  a  mass  of  hovels  for  which  265  cases 
of  consumption  in  nine  years  have  earned  the 
lugubrious  title  of  "the  Lung  Block." 

The  Lung  Block,  for  all  its  squalor,  has  more 
than  doubled  in  population  in  a  few  years.  For 
all  its  poverty,  it  is  surrounded  by  saloons  whose 
dingy  caves  are  splendid  refuges  to  the  victims 
of  heredity  imprisoned  in  the  great  donjon-keep. 
For  all  its  misery,  it  is  infested  with  vice,  and 
the  lowest  of  low  women  drive  a  gruesome  trade 


let  iKe  (Bo 

among  the  drunken  and  filthy  voluptuaries. 
They  are  the  very  dust  on  the  scum  of  a  hell- 
brew.  But  the  crusaders  of  health  are  fighting 
the  existence  of  these  ulcers,  and  they  must  one 
and  all  be  eradicated  in  the  great  crusade. 

De  Peyster  offered  to  show  Myrtle  the  inner 
miseries  of  these  repellent  exteriors,  but  she  was 
sick  of  ugliness.  She  had  devoted  her  life  to 
the  beautiful,  and  she  fled  from  its  opposite  as 
from  toads  and  slime.  She  was  so  depressed 
that  De  Peyster  felt  called  upon  to  exorcise  the 
evil  spirits  by  some  especial  evocation  of  beauty. 
So  he  proposed  an  evening  at  the  opera. 

When  they  separated  each  flew  to  the  hottest 
of  baths  and  the  roughest  of  flesh-brushes.  After 
dinner  they  met  again,  and  he  was  immaculate 
in  broadcloth  and  snowy  linen,  while  she  was  a 
princess  in  robes  of  trailing  satin  with  shoulders 
and  arms  bare  and  beautiful. 

The  opera  was  "  Lucia  di  Lammermoor,"  and 
the  despair  of  the  plot  was  no  hindrance  to  the 
serenity  of  the  melodies;  the  lovers  parted  to 
catchy  melodies,  and  the  broken-hearted  girl 
went  mad  to  liquid  cadenzas  and  fluty  trills. 
The  tenor  was  Caruso,  of  Italy,  the  soprano 
Sembrich,  of  Poland — two  of  the  greatest  vocal- 
ists that  ever  reveled  in  the  perfections  of 
tone. 

The  architecture  of  the  building  had  only  its 
size  to  commend  it,  but  the  enormous  horse- 
shoe of  boxes  and  balconies  was  the  brilliantest 


342  £be  iReal  IWew  il)orfc 

sight  in  all  the  world,  and  the  audience  the  most 
beautiful  and  most  splendidly  garbed. 

To  please  and  to  entice  this  big  mob  of  oli- 
garchs, this  polloi  of  aristocrats,  the  whole  mu- 
sical world  had  been  ransacked.  The  salaries 
paid  are  the  highest  ever  known  and  the  income 
from  performances  the  largest  ever  achieved. 
At  one  performance  the  income  has  been  $19,000; 
one  series  of  eight  brought  in  $100,000.  With 
such  funds  there  is  small  difficulty  in  kidnap- 
ping from  the  European  capitals  their  Meister- 
singers. 

The  audience  is  not  alert  for  novelties,  a  na- 
tive American  grand  opera  is  unknown,  and  a 
singer  without  a  European  fame  has  no  chance 
even  to  appear  here  for  a  verdict;  and  yet  there 
are  some  compensations  in  the  unrivaled  bril- 
liance of-  the  casts,  and  in  the  fact  that 
Wagner's  operas  were  a  household  word  here 
while  they  were  still  unheard  in  many  European 
cities.  It  was  here  that  "Parsifal"  was  heard 
before  it  was  heard  anywhere  else  outside  of 
Bayreuth. 

De  Peyster  led  Myrtle,  his  sister  and  Calverly 
to  the  family  box  in  the  grand  tier.  The  pro- 
gramme obligingly  told  the  names  of  the  occu- 
pants of  these  booths  where  fashion  displays  its 
diamonds,  its  ducats,  its  daughters  and  its  dow- 
agers. Here  were  all  the  family  names  that  had 
won  a  place  on  the  golden  scroll  of  fame  which 
records  the  high  caste  of  "  among  those  present." 


Xct  ins  (So  B-Slumming         343 

Calverly  was  delighted  to  see  the  American 
women  in  decollete.  He  confessed  that  the  dis- 
play made  in  Covent  Garden  looked  barnishly 
tame  in  comparison.  In  the  double  tier  of  boxes 
were  grouped  the  proudest  families  of  the 
nation;  the  women  gowned  and  coiffed  and 
bejeweled  to  the  last  reach  of  the  cosmetic  arts, 
the  men  furnishing  a  becoming  background  of 
black  and  white. 

Myrtle  looked  down  on  the  long,  broad  sweep 
of  the  orchestra,  with  its  checker  of  black-shoul- 
dered men  and  white-shouldered  women,  and  its 
dew-sprinkle  of  diamonds  and  pearls  in  tiara,  sun- 
burst, dog  collar  and  necklace.  She  glanced  at 
the  Omnibus  Box,  with  its  hundred  young  bucks 
of  fashion,  most  decoratively  regular  in  their 
patches  of  black  cloth  and  white  linen.  Then 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  top  gallery,  with  its 
long,  inclined  plane  of  heads  upon  heads  to  the 
vanishing  point,  where  the  loftiest  pigmies  al- 
most touched  the  roof.  It  was  a  wonder-world 
to  her,  and  the  music  of  the  huge  orchestra  took 
her  into  the  cloudland  of  harmony. 

She  had  forgotten  that  this  very  moment  a 
greater  throng  than  this  was  scattered  through 
fetid  rooms,  dimly  lit  and  wretched.  In  this 
palace  of  violins,  oboes,  bassoons  and  mur- 
muring horns  she  could  hear  no  sound  of  that 
greater  symphony,  that  unheroic  symphony  in 
monotonous  minor  played  "by  the  mighty  orches- 
tra of  sewing  machines. 


344  £be  iRcal  IRew 

She  sat  in  her  shallop  overlooking  the  sea  of 
wealth,  and  she  breathed  deep  of  the  perfume 
of  luxury,  the  stupendous  paraphernalia  and 
pomp  of  fashion  seeking  diversion  at  any 
cost. 

The  fat  and  lumbering  chorus  women  and  the 
gawky  men  with  their  two  gestures — one  with 
the  right  hand  and  one  with  the  left — reminded 
her  of  Little  Italy,  though  these  chorus  people 
in  their  court  garb  looked  far  more  plebeian 
than  the  loungers  in  the  doorways  of  Mulberry 
Street.  But  there  was  little  to  ridicule  and  all  to 
admire.  Surely  this  was  life,  sitting  in  this  seat 
of  the  mighty,  among  the  princes  of  the  land, 
and  at  her  side  the  princeliest  of  all! 

And  then,  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  one  of 
Semb rich's  divinest  roulades,  there  was  a  sharp 
hissing  sound.  It  was  strange,  for  American 
audiences  do  not  hiss.  The  sound  came  from 
the  balcony.  She  glanced  that  way,  and  a 
whole  section  of  it  was  blotted  out  with  smoke. 
The  memory  of  the  Chicago  theatre  horror  was 
fresh  in  her  mind.  She  seemed  now  to  see  the 
whole  orchestra  rise  in  terror;  she  could  see  the 
women,  tangled  in  their  long  trains,  packing  the 
aisles  solid,  shrieking,  pushing,  tearing  the  silks 
from  their  bodies,  trampling  beauty  and  grace 
underfoot,  smothering  one  another  in  mad 
stampede. 

She  reached  out  impulsively  and  seized  Ger- 
ald's arm.  It  was  hard  as  marble  and  did  not 


Xet  ins  (So  EUSlumming          345 

tremble.  He  looked  at  her  in  pale  calm,  and 
said: 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  dear.  We  must  show  no  ex- 
citement. It's  the  panic,  not  the  fire,  that  kills." 

She  clung  to  his  hand  and  stared  at  the  cloud 
of  smoke.  The  people  whom  it  veiled  were 
plainly  agitated,  but  they  did  not  leave  their 
places.  Their  heroism  was  sublime.  If  one 
woman  began  to  scream  and  rush  the  whole 
house  would  go  insane.  Thousands  had  not  no- 
ticed the  disturbance,  and  Sembrich  went  on  with 
her  song  while  she  watched  the  cloud  of  smoke. 

Then  a  fireman  appeared  and  waved  his  hand 
to  the  people  to  be  calm.  When  the  New  Yorker 
sees  a  fireman  he  feels  safe;  he  knows  that 
almost  superhuman  energy  and  courage  are  at 
hand.  The  smoke  cleared  slowly — it  was  only  a 
fuse  that  had  burned  out  in  a  group  of  lights, 
and  soon  the  hearts  fell  back  into  the  quiet 
rhythm,  and  music  reigned  supreme  again. 

After  the  opera  Gerald  said : 

"  They  poke  fun  at  society  people,  but  breeding 
counts,  and  we  are  bred  to  take  things  quietly. 
They  talk  about  getting  back  to  good  old  nature 
and  simplicity.  Well,  good  old  native  sim- 
plicity would  have  set  every  man  and  woman 
there  to  screaming  and  fighting  like  mad  to  es- 
cape. Breeding  said,  'Don't  disgrace  yourself; 
remember  that  a  single  indiscretion  of  yours 
may  imperil  the  lives  of  others ;  keep  calm,  what- 
ever you  do.'  That's  what  breeding  does." 


346 


IRcal 


When  Gerald  took  Myrtle  home  he  said : 

"You  showed  true  pluck  to-night,  Myrtle.  I 
was  proud  of  you." 

"I  was  terribly  afraid  till  I  held  your  hand." 

"Hold  my  hand  again." 

"No;  for  now  it  is  you  that  I  am  afraid  of." 

"But  let  me  explain." 

"To-morrow.  Here's  my  hotel.  Good-night. 
I  like  slumming  in  the  Metropolitan  better  than 
anywhere  else.  Good-night  again!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

NIGHT     IN     THE     SLUMS — A     BOWERY     CONCERT     HALL A 

MORAL        IMMORALITY       SHOW A       NIGHT'S       LODGING 

FOR    FIVE    CENTS AMATEUR     NIGHT A      CONCERT    SA- 
LOON  VICIOUSNESS      ON      THE      UPPER      WEST     SIDE — 

EAST-SIDE      GANGS DULNESS       UNDER       THE       LID A 

JEWISH    VAUDEVILLE A  STREET    FIGHT PICKPOCKETS 

AND      LOW      SALOONS KNOCKOUT      DROPS — A      POLICE 

COURT  SCENE 

SHE  was  rather  plump  for  a  soubrette,  since 
she  tipped  the  scale  at  over  200  pounds, 
but  she  wore  short  skirts,  revealing  a  pair  of 
grand-piano  legs,  and  she  sang  in  a  still,  small 
voice.  At  the  end  of  each  stanza  she  cried: 

"Join  in,  boys!" 

The  boys  consisted  of  an  overripe  human 
tomato  sound  asleep  at  a  small  table;  two  Ameri- 
can sailors  extremely  decollete  and  half  afloat; 
three  or  four  middle-aged  creatures  whose  per- 
sonal attractions  were  those  of  washerwomen; 
a  waiter,  and  a  dismal  mechanic  at  the  piano, 
technically  known  as  the  "  professor  who  hits  the 
box;"  also  A.  J.  Joyce  and  "Ananias"  Blake. 

As  Joyce  seemed  to  be  the  only  visitor  with  an 
inclination  to  buy,  he  was  the  observed  of  all 
observers.  His  amusement  at  the  kittenish 
behemoth  on  the  stage  was  increased  by  her  sue- 


348  £be  iReal  mew  Jflorfc 

cessor,  a  woman  of  a  homely  and  spinster  type 
of  countenance,  one  of  those  whom  we  think  of  as 
virtuous  by  compulsion.  She  was  what  they 
call  in  the  Bowery  concert  halls  a  "classic" 
singer,  for  down  there  any  song  that  is  not 
"rough  house"  is  classic.  On  the  rickety  little 
stage  in  a  common  kitchen  chair  sat  the  third 
of  the  graces,  a  vivacious  little  plebeian  with  a 
gesture  for  each  word  of  the  rattling  gossip  she 
kept  up  with  her  companions. 

In  the  hope  of  preventing  further  music  Joyce 
called  a  waiter  and  said: 

"The  girls  look  very  thirsty;  perhaps  they'd 
like  some  beer  up  in  the  balcony." 

The  waiter  surrounded  the  affair  with  an  air 
of  great  mystery  and  danger,  but  the  girls,  after 
slipping  on  long  skirts  over  their  short  ones, 
found  their  way  to  a  table  in  the  gallery  running 
around  the  hall.  Joyce  and  Blake  ordered 
beer,  though  the  girls  insinuated  that  champagne 
was  an  interesting  beverage. 

"Don't  try  to  work  a  good  thing  to  death," 
said  Joyce.  "Beer  is  what  you'll  get." 

The  ladies  compromised  on  claret.  Blake 
explained  that,  as  they  got  a  commission  on  every 
sale,  it  would  be  bad  form  to  limit  the  expendi- 
ture too  severely.  Blake  was  always  very  anx- 
ious that  Joyce  should  not  err  on  the  side  of  lim- 
iting the  expenditure  too  severely. 

Joyce  lost  little  time  in  asking  the  usual  ques- 
tion: "How  did  you  come  to  this?" 


in  tbc  Slum* 


349 


The  homely  spinster  explained  with  chin  still 
tremulous : 

'You  see,  I  was  born  in  Skaneateles,  and  my 
parents  is  very  respectable.  Oh,  they're  right 
in  the  push  in  Skaneateles.  Paw  is  the  best 
sign-painter  in  town.  They  give 
me  a  splendid  education — oh,  I 
was  educated  grand!  But  one 
day  along  come  a  handsome 
traveling  man — oh,  but  he  was  a 
handsome  devil! — and  he  stole 
my  young  affections,  and  asked 
me  to  run  off  with  'urn.  He 
promised  to  marry  me — honest 
he  did — and  then  we  come  to 
New  York,  and  then  he  deserted 
me  cruel.  And  that  is  how  I 
come  to  this.  Maw  would  be 
broken-hearted  if  she  knowed  I 
was  in  this  business." 

Joyce   noticed   that   the   sou- 
cetacean    school    was    sobbing 


WEST    SIDE    SWELL 


the 


brette    of 
violently. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  growled 
Joyce,  and  the  answer  came: 

-  her,  she  told  my  story!" 

While  she  wept  Joyce  turned  to  the  vivacious 
girl  whose  beauty  had  a  trace  of  honesty  and  of 
young  innocence  that  might  mean  genuine  in- 
nocence or  might  accompany  extraordinary 
viciousness.  He  asked  her  if  she  did  not 


350  £be  IReal 


manage  to  make  considerable  additions  to  her 
regular  salary.  She  was  almost  indignant  at 
the  implication,  and  answered: 

"Well,  if  I  wasn't  straight  I  wouldn't  be 
working  here,  singin'  from  two  in  the  afternoon 
to  midnight,  seven  evenings  a  week  for  $10  and 
20  per  cent,  on  the  drinks  I  can  sell  the  cheap 
skates  that  comes  in  here.  When  midnight  comes 
I'm  dog  tired,  and  it's  me  for  home  in  a  street 
car.  I  don't  go  home  in  no  automobile,  and  I 
don't  wear  no  necklaces  of  real  poils.  This 
string  of  beads  cost  me  fifteen  cents.  I  live  with 
my  mother,  an*  she  takes  in  washing.  So  I 
guess  I'm  straight  all  right,  all  right." 

Then  her  native  cheeriness  resumed  its  sway; 
she  burst  out  laughing: 

"  Mother  thinks  I  am  a  great  actress,  and  she 
is  always  sayin'  :  '  Why  ain't  your  pictures  in  the 
paper?  I  am  always  seein'  Maude  Adams  and 
this  Eyetalian  Doos,  but  I  don't  never  see 
yours." 

Joyce  was  grievously  disappointed  at  the  tame- 
ness  of  the  conversation  and  the  constant  fear 
the  women  expressed  of  the  police. 

"Why,  would  you  believe  it?"  said  the  plump 
one,  now  restored  to  equanimity,  though  still 
looking  with  scorn  on  the  plagiarist,  "the  police 
won't  let  a  lady  come  in  this  place  alone.  She's 
got  to  have  a  escort.  That  means  money  to  a 
new  kind  of  grafter.  They  are  a  lot  o'  young 
loafers  that  hangs  around  the  doors,  and  they'll 


in  tbe  Slume  351 

escort  one  of  these  girls  inside  for  fifteen  cents; 
then  they  leave  her  at  a  table  alone." 

Joyce  was  restless  to  be  away,  and  asked  the 
waiter  for  his  bill. 

"Two  dollars,"  said  the  waiter,  with  extreme 
graciousness. 

"Two  dollars  for  two  beers  and  three  glasses 
of  cheap  claret!"  exclaimed  Joyce,  enraged.  But 
Blake  calmed  him. 

'Take  your  medicine  like  a  man;  we  all  try 
to  get  all  we  can  in  our  business." 

Joyce  found  that  his  smallest  change  was  a 
twenty-dollar  bill.  The  waiter  regarded  it  with 
beaming  eyes  and  explained: 

"Oh,  we  can  change  a  hundred  for  you  just 
as  easy;  and  it  is  all  reliable — we  don't  shove  no 
queer  in  this  place." 

He  returned  shortly  with  a  roll  of  bills, 
counted  it  and  placed  it  in  Joyce's  hands. 

"Better  count  that  yourself,"  said  Blake. 

Joyce  counted  it  and  began  to  roar. 

"There  is  only  $17.00  here.  Come  up,  come 
up;  you  can't  work  your  short  change  game  on 


me." 


The  waiter,  unabashed,  took  the  money  from 
Joyce  and  counted  it  over  himself. 

"Right  you  are.     I  am  shy  one  dollar." 
He  reached  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  took 
out  a  greasy  bill,  which  he  gave  to  Joyce.     The 
Chicagoan,  with  a  triumphant  leer,  was  about 
to  put  the  money  in  his  purse.  ' 


352  ftbe  iReal  IRew  JJ?orfc 

"Better  count  that  again,"  said  Blake,  quietly 
Joyce  counted  and  grew  purple  in  the  face. 

"  You  blamed  thief !     There  is  only  $12  here." 

Without  the  faintest  sign  of  embarrassment 
the  waiter  took  the  money  and  ran  over  it  once 
more.  Then  with  a  laugh  he  said: 

"Right  you  are." 

He  handed  back  Joyce  the  money  and  took 
five  from  his  other  waistcoat  pocket. 

Joyce  was  tucking  the  bills  away  in  still  greater 
triumph. 

"Better  count  that  again,"  said  Blake. 

The  next  tally  showed  $10.  Joyce  now  began 
to  bellow  so  loudly  that  the  proprietor  came  up. 
He  made  a  very  poor  pretense  at  indignation 
that  such  a  thing  should  happen  in  his  place. 

"Let  me  count  that  again,"  said  the  waiter. 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Joyce.  "You  must 
think  I  am  easy.  Give  up  that  $8  or  I'll  call 
the  police." 

The  waiter  tried  hard  to  get  another  chance 
at  counting  the  money,  but  Joyce  was  adamant 
and  the  proprietor  sided  with  him.  The  waiter 
went  through  his  pockets  and  turned  out  $5, 
which  he  solemnly  swore  was  every  cent  he  had; 
but  at  the  magic  word  "police"  he  managed  to 
discover  $3  more,  and  without  the  faintest  sign 
of  ill-feeling  or  humiliation  bowed  Joyce  out. 

As  they  strolled  along  the  Bowery,  now  in  the 
full  blaze  of  night,  Joyce  was  attracted  by  a 
^museum  of  ostentatious  wickedness.  The  post- 


THE  BOWERY 


in  tbe  Slums  353 

ers  were  as  risky  as  the  law  allows.  The  win- 
dow was  full  of  suggestive  photographs.  To 
crown  all  there  was  a  conspicuous  sign,  "For 
Men  Only.  No  Minors  Admitted."  At  the 
door  stood  a  barker  of  leering  mien,  and  he 
barked  in  a  mysteriously  low  tone.  Joyce  could 
not  resist  his  blandishments;  here  was  plainly 
something  wicked  which  the  police  had  not  re- 
pressed. The  admission  fee  let  him  into  a  room 
with  a  disappointingly  virtuous  series  of  peep- 
holes, which  revealed  cheap  chromos  of  scenery 
and  battle  pictures.  A  badly  carved  "fossil 
giant"  lay  in  a  coffin.  It  was  a  bad  imitation 
of  that  famous  Cardiff  giant  which  was  buried 
near  Syracuse,  rediscovered  by  accident  and 
brought  to  New  York  by  the  arch-humbug,  P.  T. 
Barnum.  But  Joyce  was  not  one  of  the  typical 
Americans  in  whom  Barnum  found  such  a  love 
for  being  humbugged.  He  strenuously  objected 
to  the  unobjectionable  nature  of  this  exhibition. 
Then  another  barker  beckoned  him  to  another 
room,  where  "something  was  really  doing." 
He  paid  an  extra  admission  and  entered  this 
unholy  of  unholies.  But  his  hopes  fell  again 
as  he  found  a  still  more  blameless  collection  of 
old  newspapers,  Civil  War  envelopes,  wax  casts 
of  famous  criminals  and  two  or  three  slot  ma- 
chines. He  felt  helpless,  however,  as  he  real- 
ized how  impossible  it  would  be  to  drag  these 
men  into  police  court  for  not  showing  him  any- 
thing truly  immoral.  The  other  dupes  in  the 
23 


354  £be  iReal  IRew  U?orfc 

room  looked  sheepishly  at  one  another,  grinned 
and  slunk  out  without  a  word.  In  the  whole 
psychology  of  swindling  there  is  surely  nothing 
more  ingenious  than  this  method  of  playing 
upon  evil  instincts  without  risking  the  vengeance 
of  the  law. 

Joyce  dawdled  along  the  Bowery,  looking  list- 
lessly for  something  vicious.  Here  was  a  shoot- 
ing gallery,  announced  by  an  incessant  buzzing 
of  bells  and  the  short  snap  of  small  rifles;  but 
it  did  not  interest  him.  No  more  was  he  at- 
tracted by  the  galleries  with  long  rows  of  mov- 
ing pictures  and  the  phonographs  with  their  pro- 
miscuous ear  tubes.  He  did  not  care  to  have 
his  tintype  taken;  he  did  not  care  to  test  his 
lungs;  he  did  not  care  to  take  one  of  those  elec- 
tric shocks  the  medicinal  virtue  of  which  the 
barker  was  constantly  recommending.  He  had 
been  in  one  concert  hall  and  the  rest  did  not 
interest  him,  though,  judging  from  the  litho- 
graphs shamelessly  displayed  outside,  most  of 
the  prominent  stars  were  appearing  on  the  dingy 
little  stage;  for  here  were  posters  of  May  Irwin, 
Ethel  Barrymore,  Mrs.  Leslie  Carter,  Marie  Tem- 
pest and  Fritzi  Scheff.  Joyce  was  not  even  at- 
tracted by  the  Museum  of  Anatomy,  where,  for 
the  trifling  sum  of  ten  cents,  one  can  provide 
himself  with  bad  dreams  of  disease  and  destruc- 
tion enough  for  a  lifetime. 

Blake  offered  to  show  him  one  of  those  lodging 
houses  with  the  attractive  sign,  "Rooms  for 


IFUgbt  in  tbe  Slum*  355 

Gentlemen  Only.  Five  and  Ten  Cents."  But 
Joyce  had  often  looked  from  the  Elevated  into 
the  reception-rooms  of  these  caravansaries  where 
the  professional  beggar,  or  panhandler,  the  sand- 
wich man,  the  political  floater,  the  super- 
shabby  genteel  and  the  victims  of  bad  luck  and 
bad  whisky  doze  all  day  long  in  preparation  for 
a  night  of  sleep  in  a  cubbyhole,  on  a  populous 
couch  spread  with  blankets  that  are  rarely 
changed.  Joyce  was  not  to  be  induced  into  any 
of  the  Hebrew  theatres,  though  at  two  of  them 
the  "Fall  of  Port  Arthur"  was  dramatized  in 
advance.  He  would  not  be  diverted  even  into 
entering  one  of  the  cheap  theatres  where  low 
burlesque  troupes  conducted  an  anatomical  show, 
where  a  slap  stick  is  a  wand  of  the  harlequin 
and  the  highest  form  of  repartee  is  a  kick  in 
the  stomach. 

It  was  Amateur  Night  at  one  of  the  theatres, 
and  Blake  promised  Joyce  a  rare  treat  in  the  ex- 
hibition of  the  volunteers  who  are  courageous 
enough  to  submit  their  art  to  the  hilarious  ver- 
dict of  the  gallery.  But  Joyce  was  out  for  vice. 
Blake  was  getting  tired  and  very  thirsty  and 
suggested  a  halt  at  one  of  the  cheap  concert 
saloons  near  Chatham  Square. 

Here  was  the  very  subterranean  grotto  of  the 
submerged  tenth.  The  usual  saloon,  save  for  an 
unusual  sloppiness,  led  to  a  back  room  filled  with 
small  tables  and  crowded  with  soldiers,  sailors, 
workingmen,  cooks,  ladies  of  the  pavement  and 


356  £be  IReal  IRew 

the  impresarios  who  live  upon  their  earnings. 
At  a  rickety  piano  sat  a  hard-working  mechanic 
in  shirt  sleeves,  whose  most  artistic  effect  was  a 
so-called  mandolin  attachment,  which  gave  the 
decrepit  instrument  a  still  tinnier  sound.  A 
youth  in  a  striped  sweater  stood  alongside  and 
roared  out  dismal  melodies  in  a  saturated  voice. 

Joyce  and  Blake  sat  down  at  a  dripping  table 
and  a  waiter  of  pugilistic  manner  brought  them 
glasses  of  diluted  beer,  mostly  collar — the  art  of 
putting  the  maximum  amount  of  foam  in  a  glass 
being  the  foundation  of  a  barkeeper's  education. 

At  the  next  table  sat  two  middle-aged  women 
in  a  boozy  blear.  One  of  these  grisly  old 
Fates  smiled  upon  Joyce  with  what  was  meant 
for  seduction — the  result  was  a  queasy  sensa- 
tion that  reminded  him  of  the  English  Channel. 
The  other  poor  old  hulk  was  devoid  of  a  nose, 
but  none  the  less  she  was  blissfully  looking  in  a 
mirror  to  see  if  her  hat  was  on  straight. 

Still  Joyce  hungered  for  something  wickeder 
than  this.  Blake  grew  impatient,  and  said: 

"Real  vice  is  not  attractive  or  pretty  or  im- 
posing. You  can  go  down  toward  the  river 
where  there  are  various  low  dives,  but  they  are 
all  very  much  afraid  of  strangers,  for  every 
stranger  may  be  a  detective.  The  toughest  part 
of  New  York  has  moved  uptown.  The  place 
they  call  Hell's  Kitchen  is  in  the  Twenties,  but 
you  would  hardly  know  that  you  were  in  any  place 
of  especial  wickedness,  unless  you  went  into  a 


IRigbt  in  tbc  Slum0 


357 


back  room  of  some  saloon  on  Seventh  Avenue 
Twenty-seventh    Street,    frequented    by 


near 


vicious  negroes  and  still  lower  white  trash,  and 
allowed  some  young  tough  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  you,  which  he  would  be  willing  to  do  if  you 
looked  as  if  you  had  a  dollar  on  your  person." 


"  DE    GANG 


Blake  now  remembered  an  imaginary  engage- 
ment at  his  newspaper  office,  and  said  that  he 
must  leave  Joyce  to  shift  for  himself.  Joyce 
asked  a  few  questions  and  seemed  chiefly  anx- 
ious to  .invade  the  haunts  of  Cherry  Hill  and  in- 
spect the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds  of  the  gang 
that  "Monk"  Eastman  led  before  he  was  sent 
up  for  trying  to  rob  a  young  drunkard  in  evening 
dress  and  shooting  at  the  police  who  interfered. 

"To  murder  is  not  the  monopoly  of  the  East 


358  <£be  iRcal  IRcw  l»orfc 

Side,"  said  Blake,  "and  the  red  spots  are  all 
over  town.  The  most  horrible  crime  of  all  was, 
perhaps,  the  one  that  took  place  at  the  Empire, 
a  drinking  hall  in  Twenty-ninth  Street,  a  few 
doors  from  Broadway,  where  an  employee  of 
the  place  beheaded  a  man  and  then  tried  to 
burn  his  body  in  the  furnace. 

"If  you  are  going  on  the  East  Side,  the  main 
thing  you  will  notice  will  be  the  stupidity  of 
everything  and  the  quiet  conversations  in  the 
saloons. '  Even  the  hotbeds  of  crime  do  not 
furnish  more  than  three  or  four  murders  a  year, 
and  you  must  not  be  disappointed  if  you  do  not 
find  wholesale  butchery  going  on.  The  main 
thing  is  to  keep  out  of  a  fight. 

"As  for  the  gangs,  there  are  a  lot  of  them; 
the  Five  Points  gang,  the  Gas  House  crowd,  the 
Paul  Kelly  clique,  the  Yake-Yake  Brady  gang 
and  the  members  of  the  'Monk'  Eastman  fra- 
ternity are  a  few  of  the  most  notorious.  But 
you  would  not  know  them  if  you  saw  them. 
For  manifest  reasons  they  do  not  foregather  in 
public,  and  they  are  simply  more  or  less  well- 
dressed  rowdies. 

"Keep  your  mind  on  your  watch,  don't  get 
into  a  crowd,  and  be  careful  what  you  drink— 
and,  above  all,  mind  your  own  business.  If 
Mr.  Yake-Yake  Brady  wandered  into  your  ath- 
letic club  he  would  probably  be  thrown  out. 
Every  saloon  is  a  club  for  its  regular  patrons,  and 
you  need  not  expect  politer  treatment  than  you 


IRigbt  in  tbc  Slums  359 

would  show  to  anyone  who  came  snooping 
around  into  your  affairs." 

With  this  advice  Blake  made  his  escape,  and 
Joyce  started  on  his  errand  of  inquisitiveness. 

He  dropped  into  one  saloon  where  Blake  had 
told  him  vice  once  reared  its  head.  But  the 
hostess  behind  the  bar  was  dejected  and  cynical; 
the  weight  of  the  Lid  was  heavy  on  her  soul,  and 
the  burden  of  her  wail  was,  "Nothin'  doin'!" 

"I've  saw  me  day.  The  police  owns  this 
town,  and  they  keep  it  shut  up  now.  They  bar 
a  lady  out  of  her  own  home.  If  you  want  to  see 
anything  lively,  the  only  place  to  go  is  the  Station 
House.  We  are  all  dead  ones.  I  guess  I'll 
pack  up  my  duds  and  go  to  the  Colored  Folks' 
Home.  Nothin'  doin'  in  this  town  no  more!" 

Joyce  took  a  peek  into  the  back  room  where 
once  the  sound  of  revelry  was  high.  The  only 
tenants  now  were  a  yawning  girl  and  a  dejected 
youth  listening  to  a  twangy  phonograph  whence 
issued  an  uncanny  comic  song  that  added  to  the 
gloom  of  the  situation. 

Joyce  wandered  away  and  got  himself  lost  in 
the  twisting  streets.  Bright  lights  drew  him  to 
a  music-hall  in  Eldredge  Street  where  the  signs 
were  in  Hebrew.  He  entered  and  found  a  seat 
near  an  almost  pretty  little  Jewess,  who  forewent 
the  formalities  of  an  introduction  and  explained 
to  him  that  this  was  a  benefit  night  for  one  of  the 
company.  Once  in  a  while  it  was  permitted 
a  member  of  the  troupe  to  add  to  his  salary  by 


360  £be  iReal  IRew 

renting  the  hall  for  one  evening  and  filling  it  to 
the  best  of  his  ability.  The  rest  of  the  company 
gladly  volunteered  their  services.  The  girl  ex- 
plained the  plot  of  the  play,  a  combination  of 
foreign  customs  with  American  surroundings. 

The  hours  passed  pleasantly  in  the  company 
of  the  almost  pretty  interpreter,  and  she  had 
permitted  Joyce  to  hold  her  hand.  But  she 
resisted  further  advances  and  explained : 

"I've  got  a  faller.     I  work  by  a  jewelry." 

Finally  he  bade  her  good-night  and  she  shook 
hands  cordially  with  him,  saying: 

"Vull,  I  am  glat  to  meet  your  acquaintance." 

Joyce  drifted  out  into  the  night,  somewhat 
shamefaced  over  his  repulsed  advances,  yet 
cherishing  a  tender  memory  of  the  little  Yiddish 
flower  blooming  in  the  rough  loam  of  the  slums. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  eleven  o'clock, 
and  he  had  seen  nothing  to  quicken  a  pulse. 
Up  and  down  the  dreary  streets  he  meandered. 
All  saloons  looked  alike  to  him.  Some  of  them 
were  surprisingly  gorgeous.  In  "Silver  Dollar 
Smith's"  place  there  was  a  silver  dollar  in  the 
floor  here  and  there,  but  Joyce  had  seen  that 
in  the  Palmer  House  at  home. 

A  sound  of  shrill  riot  caught  his  ear.  He 
found  two  gamins  fighting  with  all  the  ferocity 
of  the  gutter  cubs.  He  joined  the  crowd  and 
relished  the  work  of  the  toy  gladiators.  Sud- 
denly someone  cried: 

"Cheese  it,  de  cop!" 


fUgbt  in  tbe  Slums  aei 

There  was  a  scramble.  Joyce  was  jostled  and 
hustled,  and — then  he  was  alone.  No  police- 
man appeared. 

"False  alarm,"  laughed  Joyce.  He  looked 
at  his  watch;  or,  rather,  he  looked  for  his  watch. 
He  felt  for  his  purse;  non  est  invent  us.  He 
clutched  at  his  scarfpin.  It  proved  an  alibi. 

Even  Joyce  could  not  withhold  admiration  for 
the  neatness  of  such  a  job. 

"  Good  work !"  he  laughed.  .  "  Time  for  spring 
house  cleaning,  anyway.  I'm  much  obliged  to 
'em  for  leaving  me  my  trousers." 

On  second  inspection  he  found  some  loose 
coin  in  his  pocket.  He  turned  and  called  out: 

"Here,  come  back;  you've  forgotten  some- 
thing." 

No  one  answered  his  invitation. 

He  decided  to  go  home.  But  he  had  lost  his 
sense  of  direction  and  could  not  orientate  him- 
self. He  asked  various  passers-by  to  tell  him 
his  way  and  immediately  forgot  their  labyrin- 
thian  advice.  Aiming  for  the  interior,  he  found 
himself  on  the  river  front. 

He  looked  in  at  a  saloon  filled  with  sailors 
and  their  sweethearts.  Joyce  had  a  wholesome 
dread  of  the  knockout  drop,  and  in  all  the 
saloons  he  had  visited  he  had  bought  cigars 
instead  of  the  beer  that  was  certain  to  be 
diluted  if  not  drugged.  But  here  the  bar  was 
neat,  and  thirst  and  fatigue  were  heavy  upon 
him;  so  he  ordered  beer. 


362  £be  iReal  mew 

A  man  detached  himself  from  one  of  the 
tables  and,  leaning  alongside  Joyce,  observed  that 
it  was  a  pleasant  evening.  Joyce  was  always 
glad  of  an  excuse  to  talk.  He  invited  the  stran- 
ger to  drink.  The  stranger  invited  Joyce  to 
drink.  He  was  well-dressed  and  he  wore  a  mild 
look,  so  Joyce  assented.  Then  Joyce  treated. 
Then  the  stranger  treated.  Joyce  retained  cau- 
tion enough  to  see  that  even  this  fair-spoken 
person  should  not  touch  his  glass,  and  that 
the  barkeeper  should  put  nothing  in  it.  But 
what  was  to  prevent  the  barkeeper  from  taking 
a  glass  in  which  there  was  a  drug  already 
waiting  ?  Joyce  had  not  thought  of  that.  And 
suddenly  he  did  not  think  of  anything  except 
the  remarkable  weakness  of  his  knees  and  his 
amazing  drowsiness.  Then  he  ceased  to  think 
even  of  that.  He  was  a  heap  on  the  floor. 

In  an  instant  the  genial  stranger  had  him  by 
the  collar  and  dragged  him  to  a  back  room. 
There  he  went  through  all  the  pockets.  The 
result  surprised  him. 

"Stung,  by  -!"  he  roared.  "The  dog's 
on'y  got  eighty-fT  cents,  and  the  knockout  drops 
cost  me  $2!  I'll  kick  his  slats  in  for  'um!" 

But  the  other  members  of  the  gang  restrained 
the  victim  of  Joyce's  deceit.  The  barkeeping 
confederate  declined  to  have  the  body  found 
round  his  place.  So,  after  a  proper  reconnais- 
sance for  the  police,  Joyce  was  picked  up,  toted 
to  a  dark  side  street  and  left  on  a  doorstep. 


in  tbc  Slums 


363 


There  he  was  found  at  3  A.M.,  still  comatose. 
He  had  no  money  to  pay  carfare.  He  did  not 
need  it.  The  city  took  him  to  a  hospital  in  an 
ambulance.  Victims  of  knockout  drops  usually 
die;  but  the  dose  given  to  Joyce  had  been  com- 
paratively weak,  and  by  six  o'clock  the  physi- 
cians had  pried  his  one  foot  out  of  the  grave. 
The  police  decided  to  put  the  other  into  the 
police  court.  Joyce  was  arraigned  for  disor- 


THE    MORNING    AFTER 


derly  conduct  and  disturbing  a  doorstep.  He 
expressed  some  surprise  at  being  arrested.  The 
sergeant  explained  that  the  policy  in  New  York 
is,  "When  hi  doubt,  pinch." 

"But  how  could  I  commit  disorderly  conduct 
when  I  was — ossified  ?" 

The  sergeant  explained  that  "disorderly  con- 
duct" is  a  merely  formal  charge,  a  card  of  ad- 
mission, as  it  were,  to  be  exchanged  for  a  more 
definite  tag.  He  was  taken  to  the  police  court 
in  a  wagon  now  grown  familiar  to  him. 

The  white-haired  Judge  sat  on  high  and  lis- 


3G4 


tened  with  little  enthusiasm  to  the  stories  told 
him.  He  neither  admired  the  imagination  dis- 
played nor  warmed  to  the  tales  of  how  the  best 
motives  in  the  world  had  been  misconstrued  by 
the  neighbors  and  the  police.  He  recognized 
many  of  the  visitors  —  the  inveterate  old  ine- 
briates; the  swaggering  solicitress,  who  winked 
at  His  Honor;  the  shuffling  sneak  thief,  who 
couldn't  imagine  how  somebody's  else  watch  got 
into  his  hand;  the  well-dressed  automobilist, 
whose  machine  could  not  possibly  have  gone 
over  eight  miles  an  hour  and  three  children  a 
mile;  the  young  rounder,  still  in  his  evening 
dress,  with  his  shirt  crumpled  and  his  hair 
rumpled  ;  the  hard-working  woman  pleading  for 
the  worthless  husband  who  used  her  for  a  com- 
bination of  pocketbook  and  punching  bag. 

There  used  to  be  a  sprinkling  of  juvenile  of- 
fenders in  this  procession,  but  wise  and  humane 
counsels  prevailed,  and  there  is  now  a  separate 
Children's  Court,  where  undergraduate  crime  is 
examined  and  an  effort  made  to  turn  the  mis- 
directed little  feet  into  the  main  road  before 
primitive  instincts  become  a  chronic  disease  of 
lawlessness. 

Eventually  it  was  Joyce's  turn  to  appear  at 
the  bar. 

"What's  your  name?"  the  Judge  asked, 
sharply. 

"  J  —  J  —  James  K.  Polk,"  said  Joyce. 

"Ever  been  arrested  before?" 


in  tbe  Slums  365 

"A — a  few  times."  Joyce  could  not  deny  it 
before  those  cold  eyes. 

"  Humph,  a  professional  criminal,  eh  ?  Where 
do  you  come  from  ?" 

"Chicago,"  he  faltered. 

'Ten  years  at  hard  labor,"  said  the  Judge, 
and  the  court  clerks,  whose  preferment  depended 
on  their  agility  in  discovering  His  Honor's  jokes, 
roared  with  laughter. 

The  policeman  explained  that  there  was  no 
real  charge  against  the  prisoner,  and  at  length 
the  Justice  relented.  He  dismissed  Joyce,  after 
reading  him  a  needless  lecture  on  the  mistakes 
made  by  Old  Dog  Tray  and  many  another  sad 
old  dog. 

Joyce  borrowed  carfare  from  the  policeman 
and  flew  to  "Ananias"  Blake.  Blake  thought 
the  whole  affair  a  huge  joke,  till  Joyce  told  him 
he  would  have  to  lend  him  enough  money  to  get 
back  to  Chicago.  This  sobered  "Ananias"  in- 
stantly, and  he  was  about  to  practise  the  sub- 
terfuge of  his  namesake,  but  Joyce's  look  was  so 
woebegone  that  he  asked  the  city  editor  for 
enough  to  transport  the  Chicagoan. 

The  city  editor  remembered  that  the  news- 
paper had  transportation  due  it  for  railroad 
advertising,  and  he  furnished  Joyce  with  a 
certificate  that  he  was  a  member  of  the  staff. 

"Lord,  I'm  going  from  bad  to  worse,"  said 
Joyce.  Then  he  wished  to  apologize,  but  Blake 
explained  that  it  was  impossible  to  hurt  a  news- 


366  £be  iRcal  1Rev\> 

paper  man's  feelings,  and  held  up  a  reporter 
(who  wrote  up  the  baseball  games  in  summer  and 
the  concerts  in  winter)  for  enough  cash  to  see 
Joyce  safely  beyond  Lake  Michigan.  Blake 
was  wonderfully  ingenious  in  showing  other  peo- 
ple ways  of  investing  money. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A    ROUND-UP THE    MANY    FAULTS    OF    NEW    YORK!   NOISE, 

CROWDING,  IMPOLITENESS,  EXPENSE,    HOMELESSNESS 

BRONX  PARK THE  JUMEL  MANSION  AND  OTHER  HIS- 
TORIC PLACES THE  COLUMBIA  LIBRARY— THE  METRO- 
POLITAN GALLERY PRIVATE  COLLECTIONS THE  AQUA- 
RIUM  BATTERY  PARK BOWLING  GREEN THE  STATUE 

OF  LIBERTY A  STORM  IN  THE  BAY DAYBREAK BON 

VOYAGE! 

UT,  I  say,  old  chap,  hasn't  New  York 
any  faults  at  all?"  Calverly  com- 
plained. 

"A  billion,"  said  De  Peyster.  It  was  about 
one  o'clock  Friday  morning,  and  they  were 
knocking  the  balls  about  in  the  De  Peyster  bil- 
liard-room while  Consuelo  was  perched  on  a 
high  chair,  dreaming  of  herself  as  an  English 
peeress  playing  billiards  with  old  coronets. 

"Every  inhabitant  has  at  least  two  faults 
apiece.  That  makes  a  rather  respectable  total 
in  itself.  Then  there  is  the  noise;  the  roar  of 
the  busy  streets  is  so  terrific  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  talk;  in  summer,  when  the  win- 
dows must  be  open,  the  uproar  almost  drowns 
the  heat.  Where  asphalt  pavement  is  down 
there  is  some  relief,  but  elsewhere  it  is  one  horri- 
ble cacophony  of  slamming,  squeaking  and  gong- 


368  £be  iReal  IRew  JDorfc 

banging  surface  cars,  Elevated  cars  and  automo- 
bile horns,  trucks,  bicycles,  horses'  hoofs.  And 
then  the  street  cries! — not  musical  calls  as  in 
France,  but  hideous  yawps  from  raw-throated 
fiends  with  faces  that  resemble  their  vegetables. 

"  Another  great  fault  of  New  York  is  the  crowd- 
ing. The  roadways  are,  as  a  rule,  less  crowd- 
ed than  in  London,  but  that  is  because  people 
over  there  are  not  packed  and  jammed  into  large 
street  cars  and  Elevated  roads  as  they  are  in 
New  York,  and  because  the  narrow  twisting 
streets  of  London  congest  the  traffic — the  man- 
agement of  that  traffic,  by  the  way,  is  the  thing 
which  Americans  most  admire  in  London. 
Your  bobbies  would  not  stand  much  chance  in 
a  fight  with  our  coppers,  but  they  get  far  more 
respect  from  the  drivers,  and  everybody  says 
they  are  infinitely  politer  than  our  policemen, 
though  I,  for  one,  have  never  been  insulted  by  a 
New  York  policeman,  nor  have  I  found  one  un- 
willing to  give  me  any  information. 

"But  the  crowding  in  the  street  cars  and  Ele- 
vated trains  is  one  of  the  chief  faults  of  New 
York.  It  is  indecent,  it  is  exhausting  to  the 
last  degree,  and,  worst  of  all,  there  seems  to  be  no 
possible  cure,  owing  to  the  shape  of  the  city. 

"The  chief  fault  in  New  York  found  by 
strangers  is  the  impoliteness  of  the  people.  A 
majority  vote  would  probably  give  New  York 
the  disgrace  of  being  the  most  impolite  city  in 
the  world.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  the  people 


a  HounMHp  369 

know  better.  It  is  not  the  bad  manners  of  un- 
couth boors,  who  are  rude  without  meaning  to 
be,  but  it  is  the  wilful  insolence  of  well-bred 
and  sophisticated  people  who  understand  the 
etiquette,  not  only  of  their  own  nation,  but  of 
most  of  the  others. 

"The  enormous  expensiveness  of  New  York 
is  another  vital  fault.  Food  is  high,  though  in 
many  respects  not  so  high  as  in  London ;  but  the 
rents  are  skyscraping,  and  they  are  getting  higher 
every  year.  Then  everyone  in  New  York  is 
trying  to  keep  up  a  bluff  of  having  more  than  his 
real  income.  Few  people  are  willing  to  retire 
on  a  modest  stipend,  as  in  London,  and  they 
wear  themselves  out  in  their  fiendish  devotion 
to  business  and  their  equally  fiendish  devotion  to 
pleasure  or  the  pursuit  of  pleasure. 

"To  New  Yorkers  themselves  the  greatest 
fault  of  the  city  is  its  homelessness.  We  live 
in  layers;  the  vast  majority  have  not  even  a  sin- 
gle floor  that  is  all  their  own,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  complete  house.  And  those  who  own  a 
house  have  no  lawns,  no  gardens,  no  privacy  ex- 
cept inside  the  doors  with  curtains  drawn.  It 
is  this  fact  that  makes  New  York  people  im-- 
polite.  Their  only  way  of  getting  privacy  is  by 
mentally  withdrawing  themselves  from  the  crowd 
that  is  packed  about  them.  New  Yorkers  do 
not  know  even  the  names  of  people  in  their  own 
apartment  house  or  next  door. 

"To  Western  people  the  New  Yorker  is  a 
24 


370  cbe  IReal  IRew  Jflorfc 

byword  of  impoliteness.  But  New  York  is 
largely  populated  by  Western  people.  They 
come  here  with  their  chivalric  notions,  but  they 
soon  get  the  bloom  rubbed  off.  The  Westerner 
who  would  not  dream  of  allowing  a  washer- 
woman to  stand  up  in  a  street  car,  after  three 
years  in  New  York  will  hardly  give  his  seat  to  a 
lame  old  lady.  The  New  Yorker  must  be  selfish 
or  become  a  worm.  It  is  the  conditions  and 
not  the  people  that  are  impolite." 

"Well,"  said  Calverly,  with  a  yawn,  "as  you 
Yankees  say,  'I  guess  that'll  be  about  all.'  I'm 
going  to  bed.  Good-night,  Consuelo." 

"I  am  for  bed,  too,"  said  De  Peyster.  "For, 
after  telling  you  what  a  mass  of  faults  this  old 
town  is,  I've  got  to  spend  to-morrow  proving 
that  it  is  nothing  short  of  Paradise." 

The  next  morning  early  he  and  Myrtle  were 
on  their  way  to  Bronx  Park,  to  begin  a  grand 
round-up  of  the  city's  beauties. 

They  wandered  about  this  wild  region  and 
smiled  at  the  pretty  little  stream  that  once  turned 
the  snuff  mills  that  built  the  Lorillard  fortunes. 
They  sauntered  through  the  Botanical  Gardens, 
which  will,  when  completed,  equal  any  in  the 
world,  and  the  Zoological  Park,  with  its  superb 
lion  palace  and  its  reproduction  of  native  haunts 
of  animals,  which  will,  when  stocked,  surpass 
any  similar  institution  of  educational  cruelty  in 
the  world. 

Myrtle  was  in  raptures  over  the  color  schemes 


a 

of  the  floral  opulence,  and  she  was  eager  tp  be 
sketching  the  four-footed  foreigners  pacing  their 
lairs  in  the  discontent  of  imprisoned  outlaws. 
De  Peyster  seized  upon  her  mood  as  an  oppor- 
tunity for  persuading  her  to  linger  in  the  scenes 
she  had  grown  to  like. 

"  Don't  go  to  Paris,"  he  pleaded.  "  Stay  here 
and  paint  New  York  a  delicate  flamingo." 

"But  I  must  study  my  art." 

'You  can  study  here — at  the  Art  Students' 
League,  for  instance.  There  are  many  good 
judges  who  say  the  training  is  better  than  in 
your  Paris  ateliers,  where  a  famous  painter  looks 
in  once  a  week  and  gives  you  an  epigram;  the 
rest  of  the  time  you  spend  imitating  the  classics 
or  chasing  some  of  the  crazy  schemes  of  the  an- 
archists. Stay  here  and  be  an  American." 

"  But  I  must  see  the  great  architecture  and  the 
galleries  —  the  Louvre,  the  Luxembourg,  the 
National  Gallery,  the  Vatican,  the— 

"All  those  will  come  in  due  time.  There  are 
enough  of  the  old  masters  here  to  keep  you  busy 
a  long  while.  The  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art 
alone  will  repay  years  of  study.  It  has  a  splen- 
did collection  of  casts  from  the  antique  sculptures 
and  reproductions  of  the  best  bronzes.  It  has 
the  finest  collection  of  goldsmith's  work  in  the 
world,  donated  by  J.  Pierpont  Morgan;  the  finest 
collection  of  Cyprian  antiquities ;  the  second  best 
collection  of  Babylonian  cylinders;  the  best  col- 
lection of  American  painters,  and  the  finest  col- 


372  Gbe  iReal  1Rew  H>orfc 

lectipn  in  America  of  foreign  masters.  Raphael 
is  almost  the  only  master  not  represented.  We 
have  Michelangelo,  da  Vinci,  Correggio,  Ti- 
tian, Rubens,  Rembrandt — hundreds  of  great 
works.  Then  we  have  some  of  the  greatest 
works  of  the  latest  English,  French,  Spanish  and 
Italian  geniuses.  The  Metropolitan  does  not 
yet  rival  some  of  the  Old  World  galleries,  for  it 
depends  on  private  gifts  and  has  no  government 
support  from  this  inartistic  Republic;  but  it  is 
growing  rapidly. 

"Then  there  are  the  selling  galleries,  where 
the  best  foreign  painters  exhibit  their  latest 
works,  for  the  American  dollar  draws  the  artist 
in  oil  as  well  as  the  singers  and  actors.  And 
then  there  are  the  splendid  private  collections, 
like  that  of  Mr.  Yerkes,  who  has  spent  two  mil- 
lion dollars  on  his  paintings.  I  can  get  you  ad- 
mission to  these.  In  fact,  in  spite  of  our  inferi- 
ority to  Paris,  Rome  and  London,  there  are  far 
more  masterpieces  in  New  York  than  most 
people  ever  see  in  a  lifetime." 

But  still  she  would  not  be  moved.  They  left 
the  Bronx  and  moved  southward,  pausing  at  the 
old  gem  of  Colonial  home-craft  at  One  Hundred 
and  Sixty-first  Street,  the  Jumel  mansion.  It 
was  built  in  1758  for  Mary  Philipse,  whom 
Washington  wooed.  Later  it  was  the  home  of 
Mme.  Jumel,  whom  Aaron  Burr  duped  into 
marriage  and  bankrupted  before  she  divorced 
him.  A  mile  or  more  away  is  Edgar  Allan  Poe's 


H  ItounMO  373 


cottage  in  Fordham.  De  Peyster  and  Myrtle 
next  made  their  way  down  to  Morningside 
Heights  and  the  cluster  of  buildings  devoted  to 
Columbia  University.  This  also  is  historic  soil, 
watered  with  the  blood  of  our  forefathers.  The 
Engineering  Building  marks  the  victory  of  Har- 
lem Heights,  one  of  the  few  bright  spots  in  this 
period  of  the  war.  Barnard  College  for  Women 
covers  the  "Bloody  Buckwheat  Field." 

Myrtle  was  less  affected,  however,  by  the 
vague  story  of  these  early  skirmishes  than  by 
the  marble  perfections  of  the  Columbia  Library, 
a  million-dollar  gift  by  Seth  Low  in  memory  of 
his  father.  There  are  235,000  volumes  on  the 
shelves  within,  making  it  the  fourth  largest  li- 
brary in  the  country.  But  the  exterior  of  the 
building  is  surpassed  for  beauty  by  none  other 
on  this  earth. 

It  was  now  the  hour  for  luncheon,  and  De 
Peyster  called  a  hansom  and  directed  the  driver 
to  Claremont.  The  atmosphere  of  the  place  and 
the  vivacity  of  the  guests  gathering  here,  far 
from  the  haunts  of  business,  in  carriages  and 
drags,  on  horseback  and  in  automobiles,  exhila- 
rated Myrtle  as  with  wine.  They  sat  on  the 
glass-inclosed  veranda,  and,  as  they  ate,  gazed 
almost  with  reverence  upon  the  broad  river,  mag- 
nificent among  its  lofty  parapets.  Myrtle  drew 
in  a  deep  breath  of  exultation. 

"You'll  miss  that  view  in  Paris,"  declared  De 
Peyster. 


374 


IRcal 


She  would  have  had  him  stay  awhile,  but  he 
said  there  was  no  time  to  spare.  Down  the 
green  aisles  of  Riverside  Drive  the  horse  pat- 
tered, and  she  would  have  lingered  here  also; 
but  still  De  Peyster  said,  "We  have  no  time." 
Then  they  turned  into  Central  Park  and  rounded 
its  wooded  curves.  Vista  after  vista  brought 
little  gasps  of  delight  from  Myrtle. 

They  descended  at  the  Metropolitan  Museum 
of  Art,  but  De  Peyster  insisted  that  she  should 
simply  have  a  glimpse  of  it.  Myrtle  would  have 
spent  a  hundred  hours  before  the  gems  of  this 
casket.  Here  was  Rubens,  and  there  Van  Dyke. 
These  canvases  rejoiced  in  the  miracles  of  Ve- 
lasquez, the  irresistible  bonhomie  of  Franz  Hals, 
the  poetic  mists  of  Corot,  the  warm-blooded 
drama  of  an  Inness  landscape,  the  velvet  of 
Diaz,  the  placid  cattle  of  Troyon,  the  huge 
power  of  Rosa  Bonheur's  "Horse  Fair,"  the 
multum  in  parvo  of  Meissonier,  the  broadsword 
play  of  Sargent — all  the  glories  of  all  the  schools 
from  the  cool  morning  of  the  classics  to  the  high 

noon  of  the  impression- 
ists.    But     De     Peyster 
would     not    let    Myrtle 
pause,  and  when  she  in- 
sisted he  took  her  by  the 
arm  and  told  her  if  she 
would    avoid   a 
scene  she  must 
come  along. 


375 


Again  they  took  a  hansom  and  sped  through 
the  Park,  into  the  Plaza  and  down  Fifth  Avenue 
through  the  stately  homes,  the  brilliant  shops, 
the  general  uplift  of  luxury.  Ahead  of  them 
loomed  the  Flatiron  like  a  great  chalk  cliff. 

"Nothing  like  that  abroad,"  said  De  Peyster. 

As  they  neared  Thirty-fourth  Street  they 
passed  an  enormous  coach-and-six  that  excited 
Myrtle's  lively  interest. 

"What  is  it—  the  'Four  Hundred'  in  a 
coaching  party  ?"  she  queried. 

"That's  the  'Seeing  New  York'  coach,  one 
of  the  city's  newest  attractions,"  responded  De 
Peyster.  "Twice  every  day  a  load  of  sight- 
seers starts  from  the  Flatiron  Building  and 
makes  the  tour  of  the  city,  with  a  guide  to 
point  out  all  the  landmarks.  —  Here  we  are," 
and  he  helped  her  from  the  cab  under  the  por- 
tico of  the  Waldorf. 

In  the  midst  of  the  creature  comforts,  external 
and  internal,  of  the  Waldorf  Palm  Room  De 
Peyster  exclaimed: 

"Great  heavens!  You  haven't  seen  the  one 
must-be-seen  of  New  York.  You  wouldn't  dare 
to  look  a  Frenchman  in  the  face  and  tell  him  you 
hadn't  visited  the  Statue  of  Liberty  which  his 
country  gave  to  us  as  a  token  of  the  liberty 
which  she  made  possible  for  us." 

Myrtle  was  fain  to  loiter  under  the  sheltering 
palms,  but  De  Peyster  was  inexorable  and 
dragged  her  to  the  nearest  Elevated  station. 


376 


Gbe  IReal  Wew  JPorfc 


They  reached  South  Ferry  just  in  time  to  miss  a 
boat,  which  gave  them  leisure  to  glance  at  the 
Aquarium,  with  its  3,000  living  people  of  the 
sea,  and  its  300,000  gallons  of  salt  water  changed 
every  day.  The  shapes  of  these  citizens  of 
another  element  were  often  unbeautiful,  and,  as 
they  drifted  forward  to  the  glass  to  stare  in 
great-eyed  amazement  at  the  staring  humans, 
there  was  little  to  admire  in  their  contour  or 
their  expression.  But  their  colors!  In  the 
prism  of  the  water,  among  rich  ferns  and  sands 
and  rocks,  these  patches  of  living  light  seemed 
to  live  in  a  world  of  crumbled  rainbows. 

As  De  Peyster  and  Myrtle  issued  from  the 
Aquarium,  they  dawdled  for  a  time  about  Battery 
Park,  into  whose  beau- 
tiful  welcome  the  in- 
coming immigrants  are 
spilled  by  the  thousand 
after  their  stay  on  Ellis 
Island. 

Battery  Park,  once 
the  aristocratic  ramble 
of  the  young  city,  was 
beautiful  at  this  hour  in 
the  red  garb  of  a  sunset 

that  lit  up  with  fire  the  glowering  rain  clouds 
that  had  gathered  swiftly. 

A  step  to  the  north  was  Bowling  Green,  a 
drilling  ground  for  the  Dutch  in  1626  and  a 
bowling  green  for  the  British  in  1732;  later  the 


FROM    THE    FATHERLAND 


H   IROlinb^  377 


site  of  a  leaden  statue  of  George  the  Third, 
which  was  erected  in  1766  and  ten  years  later 
was  torn  down  by  the  Sons  of  Liberty,  who  re- 
turned it  to  its  English  owners  in  the  form  of 
some  40,000  bullets.  The  old  iron  railing  is 
still  there  but  it  has  lost  the  crowns  that  once 
adorned  it.  And  it  surrounds  no  longer  the 
statue  of  a  British  king,  but  that  of  an  old  Dutch 
merchant  who  prospered  here  in  1700. 

Myrtle  looked  at  the  statue  in  amazement. 

"Why,  it's  Abraham  De  Peyster!" 

'Yes,  an  ancestor  of  mine,"  said  Gerald. 

"How  glorious  to  have  an  ancestor  200  years 
old,  with  a  statue  in  a  place  of  such  honor." 

'You  can  acquire  that  ancestor  by  marriage." 

"There  is  the  boat,"  cried  Myrtle.  "But  it 
is  getting  late  and  it  is  going  to  rain." 

None  the  less  they  decided  to  take  the  risk. 
The  wind  was  rising  and  the  smallish  boat 
bounced  and  tossed  in  the  choppy  sea.  Myrtle 
looked  uneasy. 

"There  will  be  seven  days  of  this  crossing  the 
ocean,"  said  De  Peyster,  tauntingly. 

But  Myrtle  survived  the  voyage  of  a  single 
mile,  and  they  soon  debarked  at  the  little  island, 
just  large  enough  to  hold  the  largest  statue  in 
the  history  of  the  world.  Its  pedestal  rises 
from  the  salients  of  old  Fort  Wood.  The  idea 
came  to  Bartholdi  in  1865  —  an  idea  as  large  as 
its  embodiment  has  been.  He  proposed  it  to 
the  French  people,  who  were  more  enthusiastic 


IRew 

over  the  gift  than  the  Americans  were  in  build- 
ing the  pedestal  to  receive  it.  In  1879  he  be- 
gan the  work,  and  in  1886  it  was  ready  for  the 
pedestal,  the  funds  of  which  were  collected  only 
by  the  efforts  of  the  New  York  World.  The  de- 
sign was  from  the  inspiration  of  Richard  M. 
Hunt,  to  whom  America  owes  many  of  its  no- 
blest works  of  architecture. 

They  say  Bartholdi's  mother  posed  for  the 
statue,  and  there  is  a  benignity  and  a  maternity 
in  the  figure  far  more  appropriate  than  any  less 
solid  structure  would  have  been  in  typifying  the 
ideal  that  stands  at  the  door  of  a  new  world, 
holding  aloft  the  lamp  of  freedom  and  shelter. 

A  few  of  the  visitors  felt  bold  enough  to  at- 
tempt the  climb  to  the  torch,  poised  three  hun- 
dred and  five  feet  above  the  sea.  The  first  half 
of  the  climb  brought  the  weary  sightseers  only 
to  the  top  of  the  pedestal.  Few  of  them  cared 
to  go  farther,  but  Myrtle  was  determined  to 
reach  the  apex,  and  they  mounted  the  dark  in- 
terior, lighted  by  electricity  and  criss-crossed 
by  braces,  till  they  reached  the  beginning  of  the 
long,  double  spiral  stairway.  This  led  them 
eventually  to  the  crown  of  the  statue;  the  open- 
ings were  windows,  whence  they  could  see  such 
a  vision  as  greeted  the  eyes  of  Moses  lifted  up 
on  Sinai.  Their  gaze  swept  the  vast  cyclorama, 
crowded  with  ships  and  cities  and  glittering  with 
the  gold  dust  of  innumerable  lights.  The  sky 
was  black  everywhere  except  in  the  West,  where 


H   -ROlinMH  379 


the  dense  clouds  were  smothering  a  last  blaze 
of  flamboyant  red. 

"It  was  just  such  a  sunset  that  greeted  me 
when  I  first  saw  New  York,"  said  Myrtle. 

"Is  it  to  be  the  last  we  shall  see  together?" 
said  Gerald. 

And  they  fell  silent,  not  heeding  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  few  who  had  climbed  with 
them. 

Suddenly  the  sunset  was  gone  from  the  sky. 
A  gun  sounded  dully  from  the  little  round  fort 
of  Castle  Williams,  on  Governor's  Island.  The 
torch  above  them  blossomed  into  sudden  life, 
and  they  saw  each  other's  faces  as  in  a  new  day. 
Myrtle  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstasy. 

"Surely  there  is  no  more  glorious  place  than 
this  on  earth  or  above  it,"  she  said* 

A  drop  of  water  smote  her  clasped  hands.  A 
shower  began  to  patter  about  them,  and  they 
hurried  inside  the  statue.  Every  light  was  gone; 
it  was  pitch  black  within,  and  they  stood  at  the 
top  of  a  well  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  deep. 
They  groped  cautiously  down  the  stairway.  It 
seemed  that  its  coils  would  never  end.  Then 
down,  step  after  step,  in  gloom  and  silence,  to 
the  door.  It  was  closed,  fastened!  They 
pounded  on  it,  but  their  blows  sounded  dead 
and  puny.  They  called  and  cried  aloud,  but 
their  voices  went  echoing  faintly  up  the  black 
cage.  The  great  bronze  ribs  of  the  statue  be- 
gan to  quiver  with  the  rising  storm.  An  hour 


380  £bc  iReal  IRcw  H)orfc 

or  more  they  spent  groping  about  the  walls  and 
pounding  in  vain. 

"I'll  go  back  to  the  top  and  call  from  there," 
said  Gerald. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  Myrtle  said. 

"It  is  too  far  and  you  must  be  very  tired," 
said  Gerald.  He  had  climbed  wearily  fifty  steps 
or  more  when  he  heard  her  calling. 

"Wait!     I  am  afraid  to  be  here  alone." 

She  hurried  up  to  his  side.  She  did  not  ob- 
ject when  he  put  his  arm  about  her  to  help, 
though  she  knew  how  fagged  he  must  be.  They 
dragged  their  weary  feet  once  more  to  the  hate- 
ful spiral.  He  could  not  help  her  here  and  she 
must  sit  down  often  to  rest.  When  they  reached 
the  crown  again  the  storm  was  furious,  and  the 
statue  rocked  until  it  seemed  certain  to  fall. 
While  she  waited  within,  he  stood  outside  in 
the  pelting  rain  and  called.  In  the  flashes  of 
lightning  he  saw  a  sentinel  hurrying  along  his 
post.  Scream  as  he  would,  the  storm  screamed 
louder.  And  the  sentinel  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
great  mountain  of  high  buildings — Mount  Babel 
—that  rises  in  lower  New  York.  Then,  as  the 
tempest  increased  in  violence,  he  saw  the  man 
disappear  into  the  shelter  of  the  sentry-box. 
There  was  no  hope  now.  He  returned  brooding 
and  discouraged,  and  told  Myrtle. 

"We  might  as  well  prepare  to  make  a  night 
of  it,"  he  ended.  Myrtle  took  the  blow  with 
courage.  They  sat  down  on  the  steps  and  talked. 


a  IRounb^lfl  38i 


It  was  so  very  hard  to  hear  that  they  must  sit 
close  together.  She  seemed  to  understand  him 
better  so.  He  told  her  how  well  he  had  learned 
to  know  her  in  this  little  week  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. He  told  her  that  the  thought  of  giving 
her  up  was  agony,  and  that  the  only  happiness 
he  could  see  for  the  future  was  with  her  for 
wife. 

She  protested  at  first  that  they  did  not  know 
each  other,  but  the  storm  and  the  solitude  and 
the  loneliness  and  his  persuasive  voice  were 
pleadings  too  strong,  and,  at  last,  in  a  moment's 
hush  of  the  storm,  she  whispered  the  "Yes." 
He  drew  off  a  ring  his  mother  had  given  him  and 
placed  it  on  her  finger. 

"And  now  we  are  betrothed  forever,"  said 
De  Peyster. 

"Forever,"  said  she. 

"Forever,"  roared  the  storm. 

They  talked  of  the  wedding  and  of  the  plans 
for  their  life,  until  the  fatigue  of  the  long  day  and 
the  fatigue  of  great  joy  overweighted  her  with 
sleep.  He  took  off  his  coat  and  folded  it  so  that 
the  dry  lining  of  it  should  furnish  her  a  silken 
pillow.  Then  he  left  her  and  climbed  the  stairs 
again,  to  see  if  there  was  yet  a  hope.  But 
the  storm  still  raged  and  the  sentry  still  kept  his 
hiding;  the  cities  round  about  were  hidden 
in  rain  and  almost  all  the  lights  were  quenched. 

In  the  Jersey  meadows  he  watched  the  moving 
light  of  a  train,  like  a  little  glow-worm.  He 


382  £be  IReal  IRew 

did  not  know  that  it  carried  Westward  two 
acquaintances  of  his.  One  of  them  was  Joyce 
and  the  other  the  Rev.  Mr.  Granger.  They 
had  shaken  hands  seriously  when  they  met. 

"Wonderful  city,  New  York,"  said  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Granger.  "  It  seems  entirely  devoted  to  the 
works  of  charity  and  the  cultivation  of  all  the  vir- 
tues. I  am  going  back  to  Terre  Haute  to  do 
what  I  can  to  make  my  city  imitate  the  ways  of 
New  York." 

Joyce  looked  at  him  with  amazement  and 
groaned.  "  Then  God  help  Terre  Haute.  She'd 
better  imitate  old,  innocent  Chicago.  I  am  go- 
ing home  for  a  rest."  He  crept  wearily  into  his 
bunk,  to  dream  of  expensive  wickedness  and 
deadly  knockout  drops,  while  his  nostrils  were 
filled  with  the  odor  of  burning  money.  But  of 
his  dreams  or  of  the  Jacob's  Ladder  of  saints  that 
visited  Mr.  Granger's  sleep,  the  far-off  De 
Peyster  neither  knew  nor  cared  in  his  storm- 
beaten  eyrie. 

He  turned  back,  making  his  way  down  the 
cavern  again  and  finding  Myrtle  still  asleep,  he  sat 
down  to  watch  over  her.  Suddenly  he  started 
to  find  that  the  huge  shell  of  the  statue  was 
filled  with  a  dim  light.  The  dawn  was  begin- 
ning. He  stared  up  the  shaft  awhile,  then, 
thinking  tenderly  of  her,  he  looked  down. 

Her  eyes  were  wide.  But  there  was  such  a 
dream  in  them  that  he  bent  slowly  toward  her 
and  kissed  her.  And  she,  still  half  asleep,  lifted 


a  IRounMIlp 

an  arm,  placed  it  about  him,  and  kissed 
him. 

There  was  no  need  of  words.  They  under- 
stood. 

And  now  she  was  eager  to  greet  the  dawn. 
It  evoked  the  world  and  her  heart  answered. 
They  climbed  again  slowly,  wearily  to  the  crown. 
The  black  fog  was  gray  fleece  now,  and  it  was 
lifting  like  a  mantle  of  ermine.  Beneath  it  the 
dance  of  the  waters  grew  merry.  The  world 
was  rediscovered.  It  was  growing  upward  out 
of  the  chaos.  The  base  of  the  statue  was  plain. 
A  sentinel  yawned  and  stretched.  Myrtle  said: 

"Call  him;  he  will  hear  us  now." 

"No,  dear  child,"  said  De  Peyster.  "I've 
been  thinking  it  over.  If  we  let  them  know  we 
have  been  here  all  night  it  will  be  in  every  after- 
noon paper.  We've  waited  so  long,  we'll  wait 
for  the  first  boat  from  land.  It  will  bring  sight- 
seers and  we  can  go  back  with  them  unnoticed." 

This  sophistication  in  her  behalf  pleased  her. 

The  sun-red  came  leaping  along  the  heavens. 
The  great  ball  of  fire  itself  rose  in  the  east, 
broke  loose  from  the  horizon,  floated  free, 
lessening  and  brightening.  The  harbor  woke 
to  life;  ferries  pushed  from  every  slip;  there 
was  a  stir  on  the  freighters  lolling  at  anchor 
below;  a  huge  liner  came  slowly  up  the  Bay. 

At  last  he  said,  almost  with  regret: 

"There  comes  the  first  boatload  of  tourists, 
just  starting  from  the  Battery." 


384 


IReal  IRew  Jl>orfc 


It  stopped  in  midstream  to  let  a  great  ocean 
greyhound  pass,  bound  outward,  taking  the 
early  tide.  On  board  were  the  French  twins 
hastening  back  to  their  dear  Paris.  They  had 
taken  the  boat  because  they  had  heard  Myrtle  say 
she  would  take  it.  They  had  searched  in  vain 
for  her.  Their  two  hearts  beat  with  one  regret. 

As  the  steamer  swept  by  the  statue  Myrtle 
read  the  name. 

"That  was  to  be  my  steamer,"  she  said;  and 
she  laughed  as  she  called: 

"I  wish  you  bon  voyage!  Wish  us  the  same! 
New  York  is  good  enough  for  us!" 


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